


how to win friends, influence people, and form voltron

by brosura



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, Hunk-centric, I am so sorry, because let's be real, despite the title there will be little or no forming of Voltron in this fic, mentions of nausea/vomiting, the only one who could manage Team Salt TM before Shiro came into the picture was probably Hunk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-06
Updated: 2017-02-11
Packaged: 2018-07-29 16:02:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,570
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7690831
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brosura/pseuds/brosura
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hunk thought about that, and about Keith and Pidge, each individually gifted but seemingly disinterested in working as a team. There was a way this could work out, in spite of their closed-off personalities. Professionalism was a thing that existed and that Hunk knew, objectively, made it very possible for acquaintances and even non-friends to work together well without actually being friends. But Hunk didn’t want that. </p>
<p>Or, Keith doesn’t get booted from the Garrison after Kerberos and poor beleaguered Hunk has to learn to deal with not just one, but two rebellious and antisocial teammates and one very salty Lance.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> headcanon that teams in the Garrison are formed via ranking. So like even though Hunk gets super motion sick he’s actually an engineering prodigy at the top of his class. And Pidge performed so well on the entrance exam they were like “Well I don’t know who this -reading smudged hand- Pidgeon McGunshow is, but put him on the first team.” Also this is still when Pidge was tryna fool everyone so their pronouns will reflect that. Hunk is also Filipino-Hawaiian in this. one more apology I know nothing about space or engineering so i am sorry but i think u will be able to tell please suspend ur disbelief as far as u can

“No way!” came the shrill cry of Hunk’s heart. Or rather, the shrill cry of Lance - directly in his ear - startling his heart into working overtime from surprise. It probably would have done that on it’s own though, at the sight of his name on their class listings.

Flight Team 1 - Fighter Class.

Pilot. Keith Kogane.

Engineer. Hunk Garrett.

Team 1.

Fighter Class.

Hunk.

_Something wasn’t right here_.

To be honest, Hunk wasn’t all that sold on this whole pushing the frontier thing. Space exploration had its charms - mostly the cool technological developments and scientific discoveries that came out of it - but Hunk would have been satisfied as the head engineer of a cargo ship or even part of a base research team.

Fighter class was a whole different can of worms. Sure it was the flashiest, most sought after job in the Garrison, but it also put you at the front lines of uncharted space. And well, Hunk could barely handle flying over to the Garrison HQ from his home in Oahu, knowing that the incomprehensible depths of the ocean lay beneath the sturdy, but not structurally invincible airplane he sat in.

And out in space, there were _entire planets_ that were _just_ ocean.

“No way!” Lance yelled again for emphasis, bringing him back to the moment. “You’re in the fighter track and I’m a _cargo pilot_?”

“Well, thanks for the vote of confidence, I guess?” Hunk shrugged, trying to deflect his own nervousness.

“I didn’t mean it like that and you know it,” Lance frowned over his shoulder. He turned back to the listing, squinting as if maybe he’d read it wrong the first time. This time, Hunk was prepared for the loud groan that came when Lance realized he had, in fact, not hallucinated being looked over for fighter class. “This is all stupid Keith’s fault! He’s _not_ that much better than me, and yet he always ranks higher than me. And now he’s in _fighter class?_ It’s like he’s always trying to one-up me!

“You know, I don’t think he’s really _trying_ to one-up you.”

“That’s an uncool and honestly kind of traitorous suggestion, dude,” Lance shot him a glare out of the corner of his eye. He squinted at the listing one more time. “And who the heck is _Pidge Gunderson_.”

“That would be me,” came a voice from behind them. Hunk almost jumped, which would have been embarrassing in hindsight because when they turned around Hunk almost missed Pidge entirely, since he was at a height just underneath his line of sight. Pidge was _tiny_ , thin and looked very young. Hunk was briefly reminded of his little siblings and cousins, particularly little Maverick with his huge circle glasses. _Look Kuya, I’m Harry Potter!_ He had said. Oh great. Now he was _homesick_.

“Oh, hey!” Lance said, breaking Hunk’s train of thought. He was smiling and cordial, once again the friendly, open person that Hunk remembered meeting when they were assigned as roommates. Not the salty monstrosity he had almost just become. “The name’s Lance, but only this big guy’s on your team.”

“Hey,” he said, calming down now that he had something other to focus on than being Fighter class. He held his hand out for Pidge to shake and almost couldn’t control his immediate reaction of _awwww_ when he felt how small the given hand was in his own. “I’m Hunk.”

“So listen,” Lance continued, leaning in and covering a side of his mouth conspiratorially despite the fact that they were nearly the only ones left in the hallway. “Between you and me, your pilot’s a huge stick in the mud kind of guy. Your best bet is to just roll with me and your engineer buddy Hunk here. I say we sneak out tonight, grab some pizza, meet some girls and-”

Pidge, who was clearly paying attention to something _other_ than Lance without Lance noticing, tensed and brought a hand up to salute.

“Wrong hand, cadet,” came the gruff voice of Commander Iverson from behind them. He and Lance startled into a salute, only relaxing when Iverson was down the hall.

“Anyway,” Lance said, undeterred by what could have been a demerit. “What do you think? Pizza? _Girls_?”

Pidge blinked at him, looking dubious behind his huge pancake glasses. “Sorry, but I don’t have time to mess around.”

He started walking away, throwing a “see you in the simulator, Hunk” over his shoulder before he turned the corner.

“Yeesh. What’s his problem?” Lance scowled at Pidge’s retreating back before shooting Hunk a concerned and sympathetic look. “Sorry about your whole team being such a drag, dude. If you want to come rant, just know your buddy Lance always has an ear to listen.”

“You just want to hear dirt on Keith,” Hunk sighed as Lance gently nudged him into walking towards their shared dorm room.

“I just want to hear dirt on Keith,” Lance admitted easily. “But seriously dude, congrats on Team 1. I know you don’t like flying and stuff, but I’m sure you’ll get used to it. Remember your old buddy when you’re flying off to bigger and better things, got it? And put in a few good words for me when Keith messes up and they need to replace his dumb mullet. And-”

Lance kept talking as they walked back to their dorm room, a constant and reassuring stream of words that Lance clearly didn’t expect any response to. It was more comfortable than silence for his noisy brain and something he had come to appreciate about the other boy.  

As they reached the corner, he threw one last look at the hallway where their rankings were posted. He caught a glimpse of Keith, a flash of red in his civilian clothes, before he and Lance disappeared around the corner.

* * *

The next time he saw Keith and Pidge again was the first day of their shared simulations. Their instructor called their team to the module first and he didn’t even share a moment of eye contact with either of them before they were strapped into their seats and already halfway through an exploration simulation.

“No signs of intelligent life and surface readouts show we’re safe for landing,” Pidge said. It was the first thing any of them had really said that held any meaning. Hunk had tried to awkwardly initiate small talk with the other two and was met with one word answers or silence until he had to stop talking and control his nausea ( _and_ the coolant problem on the forward stabilizers) when they made their abrupt and shaky entry into the simulation planet’s atmosphere.

“Got it,” Keith said, and suddenly their ship was pitching forward and Hunk didn’t have time to say anything before he was reminded exactly what he’d eaten for lunch.

_It was beef stroganoff,_ he thought, as Keith and Pidge both turned to take a curious look at him. _And peas._

_There goes a perfect run through._

“Sorry,” he croaked, embarrassed now that he realized he was probably the least useful one on the team at the moment, and they would definitely get marked down for this. Neither of them looked upset though, expressions mixed with an interesting combination of mild disgust and concern.

“We’re landing soon,” Keith responded, eyebrows raised in unspoken question. _He’s asking if I’m ok to land_ , Hunk’s brain supplied helpfully. His stomach responded with more beef stroganoff.

“Just go ahead and land, I think I can keep it together until then,” he gave a shaky thumbs up and Keith turned to the controls, glancing back to him just once before the ship was pitching forward again. Keith, to his credit, was great at piloting. The entry may have been bumpy, but their craft had otherwise remained steady throughout the simulation. He just wished Keith would cool it a little on the accelerator. After moments that felt like hours, the ship jolted slightly and came to a stop. Keith started fiddling with the switches on the control board.

“Wait!” Pidge said abruptly, as Keith pressed the button that disengaged the door locks. But it was too late.

The entire cabin was illuminated in red.

“Oh man,” Hunk whined, wincing at the text blinking red across the screen.

FAILURE. 

* * *

“Now,” Iverson barked, stroking his beard. “Despite this being an almost nominally successful simulation, can anyone tell me what this team did wrong?”

They had been made to line up outside the simulation machine. This being their first time on the roaster, Hunk was sweating bullets and almost visibly shaking, a sharp contrast to the completely disinterested expressions of his teammates.

“Their pilot messed up!” Lance shouted gleefully from the crowd, hand in the air but having clearly not been called on. Keith scowled beside him and Hunk almost wanted to cover his face in embarrassment.

“Wait until you’re called, cadet!” Iverson yelled, rounding on Lance. “You’re not wrong, but could anyone specify the pilot’s exact mistake?”

“He opened the doors before the communications officer could confirm atmospheric safety.”

“That’s correct. He failed to communicate critical information with the other members of his team, despite being in a leadership position. In fact, lack of communication was a common trend in this entire exercise. Examples, cadets. Speak freely, but not all at once.”

“The communications officer didn’t notify the pilot about their status on atmospheric conditions prior to landing,” a female cadet began, after a short pause.

“He also didn’t report when they were approaching the planet.”

“Neither did the pilot.”

“The engineer didn’t report the coolant failure until after he had it managed.”

“The engineer also didn’t tell anyone he was going to blow chunks,” Hunk flushed as muffled giggles spread through the group.

“The _pilot_ didn’t announce atmospheric entry so the crew _couldn’t prepare,”_ Lance spat directly at the cadet that cracked the joke. The cadet frowned back at him, and looked like he was about to say something when Iverson cut in.

“That’s enough, cadets. But you all seem to get the idea. Being individually talented isn’t enough to make a team successful. Skill without communication and teamwork is useless in the Galaxy Garrison,” Iverson said all of this, but Hunk got a feeling that he was speaking directly to Keith, who was tense beside him and who Iverson would eye every time he mentioned teamwork. Keith furrowed his brows, but said nothing. Pidge on the other hand looked completely and decidedly disinterested.

“That being said, very few achieve success on their first simulation and each of these individuals did perform well to some extent. I want all of you to reflect on the mistakes you or others have made and aim to fix them with every new simulation. Space is not forgiving, and the simulations will get harder to reflect that fact with each week. Do not forget what you have learned today. Team 1, dismissed. Team 2, to the simulator.”

With that Hunk relaxed and returned to the crowd of cadets to stand next to Lance as the second team entered the prep area. Lance threw him a grin and a thumbs up and he smiled weakly in return. As the simulation began, he noticed that Keith and Pidge weren’t near him and he craned his neck to see where they’d gone.

Both, unsurprisingly, were at the very back of the group. Pidge was taking advantage of his small size and was fiddling with something in his hands unnoticed by any instructors or cadets. Keith was leaned against the back wall, eyes closed.

He turned back, watching as the second team struggled admirably through the simulation. The difference between their individual skill level was surprisingly stark; he had known Keith had a reputation for being a singularly gifted pilot, but he didn’t realize the extent of his talent until he saw Team 2’s pilot struggling to manage their entry, something Keith had done as effortlessly as breathing. Even Pidge had seemed more in his element than this Team’s communications officer. In contrast to the cool, collected reports of their tiniest team member, this poor new girl was sweating and desperately checking each screen twice, as if she hadn’t seen it the first time.

But they had clearly taken Iverson’s warnings to heart. Despite being clearly strangers to each other, they were much more open to communication, however awkward and formal it was.

Hunk thought about that, and about Keith and Pidge, each individually gifted but seemingly disinterested in working as a team. There was a way this could work out, in spite of their closed-off personalities. Professionalism was a thing that existed and that Hunk knew, objectively, made it very possible for acquaintances and even non-friends to work together well without actually _being friends_.

But Hunk _didn’t want that_. Hunk left his family and friends to join the Galaxy Garrison because, in spite of all his fears and anxieties, he wanted the wonder and _adventure_ that came with space exploration and he wanted to be in a place where he could meet people like him and he wanted, well, friends.

He wanted friends.

He wanted _to be friends_ with Keith and Pidge.

When Team 2 finished and the next team was called up to staging, he used the distraction to gently push his way to the back of the class, ignoring Lance’s curious look and taking a spot between Keith and Pidge. Pidge looked up with a raised brow from where he was fiddling with what looked like a little communicator and Keith cracked one eye open at him.

He smiled at them, sheepish and feeling very out of place. Keith closed his eye and relaxed against the wall again, but Hunk imagined the slightest twitch of his lips. He didn’t have to do the same for Pidge, who returned a small smile of his own before returning to the little communicator.

_He could do this,_ he thought, basking in the warmth of even such a small victory. _Yeah, he could work with this._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case you were wondering, Kuya means "older brother" in Tagalog but can also refer to people who aren't necessarily related to you but are older than you. It's a respect thing. 
> 
> Updates to come every Friday at the latest. Also this is my first time doing like anything but lurking? How do u get a beta reader? Any advice lmao?


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for the kudos y'all! this chapter is shorter than i would have liked to release, but i ran out of time and wanted to get something out by the time i promised for at least the first week lmao. the future chapters should be longer than this. also there may be more spelling/formatting mistakes in this chapter than on average because i didn't get a chance to be meticulous and i'm going out in like 5 min !!! i'm not ready !!!

Much to his surprise, the first one to make any attempt at contact after the simulation was Keith.

“You need to get used to flying if you want to stop getting sick during simulations,” he said, bluntly and in lieu of any real greeting to Hunk that same afternoon in the cafeteria. He seemed uncomfortable, and Hunk wasn’t sure if it was because he was forcing himself to socialize, because he was in a crowded room, because Lance was glaring at him by Hunk’s side or because he was actually wearing the Galaxy Garrison uniform properly for once. “Come with me.”

“Okay?” Hunk blinked at him, unsure how to react to this whole thing. After simulations were completed, Keith and Pidge had slipped away before he had any chance to ask them if they wanted to hang out. He had expected to be the one initiating contact, not the other way around. Keith stared expectantly. “Oh, you mean like right now? Can I finish lunch first?”

“Do you really want to eat before practicing not getting airsick?” Keith answered, quirking an eyebrow at him.

“Good point,” he put his spoon down, a little disappointed he wouldn’t get to eat his mac and cheese after he had painstakingly crafted it to his preferences. The Galaxy Garrison’s Monday Macaroni Bar was a staple in his weekly routine with some definite added alliterative appeal. _Then again_ , he thought, imagining what semi-digested mac and cheese would look like on the way out, _maybe this is for the best_. He looked at Lance to ask him to save him some food, but Lance was busy glaring at Keith, who didn’t actually seem to notice. He sighed heavily. “Well, lead the way, dude.”

* * *

They were walking down a wing of the Garrison (that Hunk was _almost sure_ first year cadets weren’t allowed into) when he realized they were missing something. Or rather, someone.

“Wait, should we go find Pidge?” He said, stopping in his tracks.

Keith threw a confused look back at him. “Pidge didn’t throw up in the simulator this morning.”

Despite the lack of any kind of critical or accusatory tone in his voice, Hunk couldn’t help but flinch. “I mean I get that, but shouldn’t we be doing stuff as like, a team?”

Keith furrowed his brows at that, wrinkling his nose a little as if Hunk had just suggested something entirely unrelated and not something that Iverson had scolded them for less than five hours ago. “I don’t know where Pidge is.”

“Then maybe we can go find him, you know, first?” Hunk suggested. “Instead of wandering in this area where I’m actually pretty sure we’re not supposed to be? I mean, I’m sure you know where we’re going, but you _do_ know where we’re going, right?”

Keith stopped in front of a door labelled with simply a number and looked at him blankly. “We’re here.”

He rapped his knuckles against the metal before Hunk could say anything.

The door slid open and someone poked their head out. Based on their uniform, Hunk could tell they were a ranked officer. Hunk straightened out into a salute, panicking slightly when Keith didn’t do the same. The officer blinked at him and then looked to Keith at his right and Hunk tried not to sweat, ready but also not ready at all to defend Keith for his clear insubordination.

“Oh, hey Keith,” the officer said, familiarity warming his tone.

“Phillips,” Keith said in response, sounding way more relaxed than Hunk expected out of Keith.

“Heard you made Fighter class. Congrats,” Phillips (Keith’s….friend?) then returned his attention to Hunk. “This one’s on engineering or comms?”

“Engineering.”

Phillips then cracked a crooked grin at him. “You can relax, cadet.”

Hunk did so, letting out a breath he didn’t even know he was holding.

“I’m guessing he’s why you’re here,” Phillips smirked, nodding at Hunk.

“He’s green in the air. In more ways than one,” Keith explained and Hunk wasn’t sure how to react to the knowledge that Keith was not only _making a joke,_ but he was making a joke about _him_.

“I heard,” Phillips snorted. “They said you did a number on the simulator, kid.”

He laughed nervously in response. “Yeah, well. I try.”

Philips grinned again and gestured behind him. Now that Hunk could see past him into the room, he noticed the open floor plan and ceiling space of a simulator room. The simulator itself was little bit larger than the ones used for cadets and designed to look more like the real deal. It would have been cool if Hunk wasn’t so nervous. “She’s all yours for the next hour or so. I’ll come get you fifteen minutes before the next scheduled simulation.”

“Thanks,” Keith said, walking past him and towards the machine. Hunk followed nervously, still not completely over the fact that they were just casually interacting with a ranked officer.

“And Keith?” Phillips said, and Keith threw a glance over his shoulder. The easy grin was still there, a little softer now, but something about Phillips expression was somber and almost melancholy. “If you need to talk or anything, I’m here, ok?”

Keith turned away abruptly, fists balling up. Hunk couldn’t see his expression, but something about the tense line of his back and the raw concern in Phillips’ voice made the scene feel very emotionally heavy and private. Hunk felt like he shouldn’t be here, seeing this.

But Keith relaxed again and muttered a thank you without turning around. And then just as quickly as it had began, the scene was over.

* * *

For the second time that day, Hunk was strapped into a simulation module, fighting to control his stomach’s earnest attempts at going full Exorcism of Emily Rose on the inside of the cabin. And they hadn’t even really done anything but dip down closer to the surface of a nearby moon.

"It helps if you hold your breath when you're about to get sick,” Keith said, looking over his shoulder at him. Hunk almost wanted to yell at him to keep his eyes on the air, but if anyone could handle flying blind it would probably be Keith. Probably. Right? “Sometimes the reason people get sick is because they get nervous when they start to feel nauseous. If you focus on controlling your breathing, it should help. I'll keep us steady until you get used to it."

True to his word, the simulator leveled out. Hunk took a deep breath and held it, counting the seconds before letting it go. _Six seconds breathing in, seven holding it and then eight out. And then you do it again. Six, seven, eight. Can you do that for me, Camille?_ He remembered the exercise from when he guided his little cousin through a panic attack at the grocery store after she’d gotten separated from their family. He’d gotten the advice himself from a high school guidance counselor who’d noticed his high-strung anxiety as he was applying to the Garrison, and a number of other institutions. His family was great, don’t get him wrong, but they didn’t really have the knowledge or experience to help him through that time in his life. He hoped Camille was doing better these days even without him.

_Six, seven, eight._ _And then again._ To his surprise, he wasn’t nauseous at all.

“Wow! That actually worked!” He exclaimed. Keith looked back at him from the pilot’s seat, his expression was a flat mixture of boredom and disinterest as usual, but something about his demeanor seemed almost content. In fact, now that he thought about it, Keith seemed way more at ease once he’d stepped in the simulator in class as well. It wasn’t surprising, with how Keith flew. Like it was something second nature, something he’d always been doing. It only followed that Keith found it relaxing. The thought entered his mind that Keith was only using him as an excuse to use the simulators after hours, but even if that was the case, was it really that bad? They were still bonding, weren’t they? He grinned. "Thanks Keith, you're a really nice guy."

Keith blinked at him and then turned back to the controls.

"Don’t mention it.” He almost didn’t hear Keith’s reply.

Then Keith abruptly decided maintaining altitude was something he no longer wanted to do and dropped the nose of their craft forward towards the planet surface. He nearly had a heart attack when Keith made some fancy maneuvers to swing their ship in another direction. 

“Wait wait wait-” Hunk cried, desperate, as his stomach started to protest again. Keith turned with furrowed brows, levelling them out, which was almost _worse_ since the relatively sudden movement made it feel like his stomach was trying to punch its way out of his mouth through his diaphragm. He croaked out a groan. “Ok, nevermind, I need to practice this. Can you take us down, but like, not so fast? And can you maybe warn me first?”

“Sure, whatever. We’re descending,” Keith sounded awkward and a little frustrated, but dipped their craft forward more gently this time. Hunk felt his stomach protest and shut his eyes as the ground came into view.

_In, six. Hold, seven. Out, eight._

_And repeat._

* * *

 “Hey,” Lance had greeted him when he walked in the door of their shared dorm, exhausted from a full hour of Keith basically wiggling their ship up and down while he tried not to puke all over the interior. He seemed busy himself, squinting a book of protocols open in front of him in the dim light. Their room faced East, so by this time the natural lighting had retreated to the exact opposite side of the facility. Lance didn’t seem to notice, though, so Hunk silently switched his desk light on for him. “By the way, I saved food for you, it’s on your desk.”

To Hunk - tired, hungry and having just spent an entire hour clutching the side of a simulator and trying not to retch - this might as well have been a blessing directly from the heavens

“Lance!” He exclaimed, almost crying actual tears as he clasped one of Lance’s hands in both of his own. Lance raised an eyebrow at him. “You’re the best friend I could have ever hoped for. Thank you so much!”

At this, Lance beamed, practically glowing under the praise. “No problem, dude. But I wouldn’t mind you saying that again.”

“The best friend!” Hunk said, opening his box and finding his exact favorite mixture of mac and cheese inside. “The very best!”

“Naturally,” he preened. “So how’d it go with Keith?”

“Not that bad, actually,” Hunk said around a mouthful of food. Lance looked a little disappointed, as if he had been looking forward to horror stories. “He took me to this simulator that the ranked officers use and gave me advice on how to not blow chunks in the air. There was a dude there that knew him. Weird, huh? I wonder how he knows a ranked officer that’s not an instructor.”

“Favoritism!” Lance exclaimed. “That must be how he made it to fighter class instead of me!”

“Um, I _really_ don’t think that’s it dude,” Hunk sighed. Lance was a great guy and a great friend, but one thing he really needed to work through was this obsession with outdoing Keith. It was a great motivator sometimes, but made him seem petty a vast majority of the time.

“Well, whatever,” Lance sighed, giving up surprisingly easily. “Anyway, I found out from Iverson today you can switch pilot tracks at the start of every month if you bring your simulation scores up, confirm your decision with the rest of your assigned crew and apply to be reviewed by the board of instructors. And guess who cleared it with his team and got approved for an appeal next month?”

He grinned thumbs pointed at himself.

“I’m guessing it’s Lance.”

“It’s Lance! I’ve gotta really hit the books now, though.”

“Congrats!” He smiled around a spoonful of mac and cheese, happy that his friend would get a second chance at pursuing his dream. Lance’s determination was something he’d always found admirable and he was glad this school was finally recognizing him for it. “That’s great! Let me know if you need anything, ok? I can ask Keith-”

“No!” Lance practically hissed. “If I’m doing this, I’m doing this without that cheater’s help.”

Hunk frowned. “If you say so. Speaking of teams, did you see Pidge go to lunch today?”

Lance squinted in concentration. “I don’t think I did, but it may have just been because that guy is like the size of a gremlin and I couldn’t see him above the tables.”

“Hm,” Hunk was dubious. Despite the amount of words exchanged between them measuring to almost nothing, Hunk had the distinct feeling Pidge was the kind of person that skipped meals. He was small for his age, and he also had a noticeable attitude of disinterest towards anything except the task at hand. Both of these were the trademark characteristics of a serial meal skipper. Keith also seemed like a textbook meal skipper, but he had gotten a sandwich from Phillips on the way out of the simulator so at least someone else was looking out for him. “I’m going to go see if he wants some food before my afternoon class.”

“He’s probably just going to tell you you’re wasting his time again, but that’s nice of you,” Lance said, a little absently, his eyes already focused on his textbook. Hunk was halfway out the door when Lance called back to him. “Just don’t feed him after midnight!”

* * *

Finding Pidge’s room turned out to be something of a journey. He knew Pidge was a newer addition to their cohort, he hadn’t even seen him before their shared simulations began. No one seemed to know who his roommate was or even who Pidge himself was, so he had to go old school and walk up and down the long halls reading the nameplates on the doors. By the time he found Pidge’s room, the mac and cheese was cold in his hands. And also half gone.

He knocked, waited and knocked again. He was about to give up, thinking maybe Pidge was actually just not around, when Pidge opened the door, blinking up at him.

“Oh, hey Hunk,” he said. He had clearly not left the room recently: he was completely out of uniform and his civilian clothes looked crumpled on one side as if he had been sitting in one place for a long time.  “Does Iverson need us or something?”

“Nope. I was just wondering if you were able to make it to lunch today. I didn’t see you around.”

“Lunch?” Pidge tilted his head at Hunk, looking genuinely confused. “What time is it?”

_Oh boy,_ Hunk thought. _He was right about this one. Serial meal skipper confirmed._

“It’s almost 4pm.”

“Shit!” Pidge cursed, surprising Hunk because he hadn’t pegged the tiny boy as someone who swore. He rushed inside his room, leaving the door open. Hunk caught a glimpse of the room as Pidge rushed around inside grabbing pieces of his uniform off of various surfaces and pulling them on haphazardly. It was a nice, open single that had clearly seen better days. The entirety of it was littered with clothes and little scraps of metal and wire. A laptop sat on the floor in the middle of a small stack of miscellaneous equipment. Hunk, being an engineer, could already recognize the tell-tale order in the chaos. Pidge seemed to be building something.

“What are you building?”

“A radio,” Pidge said, simply. It was vague and unsatisfying, but Hunk let it slide since Pidge was now actively pushing him out of the way and rushing down the hall.

“Whoa, whoa! What’s the rush?” He said, following after him.

“Late for class!”

“Is it Solid Mechanics?” Pidge paused, throwing a curious look over his shoulder that confirmed his guess. He grinned back at him. “I’m in that class, too. Don’t worry about being late! It’s just around the corner and Professor Mackey always starts fifteen minutes after the hour anyway. Want to walk together?”

Pidge seemed at once relieved and uneasy. He could guess the uneasy part was mostly because he did _not_ want to walk together, but wasn’t sure how to say no without offending Hunk.

“Sure,” he said, somewhat grudgingly.

“Great!” Hunk practically bounced up to his side. “I didn’t realize the comms spec track had Solid Mechanics as an optional class.”

“We don’t,” Pidge admitted. “I’m just using it as an elective because it seems cool.”

“Nice! You interested in materials science, or are you more interested in watching people and computer programs destroy things?”

“A little bit of both,” Pidge smirked.

“Well, you won’t be disappointed either way. Mackey has a baseball bat in class he calls ‘External Stress’ and every once in a while he brings some part of a spaceship in and lets a volunteer beat it up a little,” Pidge looked distinctly more excited, and Hunk wasn’t sure if that was something good or bad about his new teammate. Then he remembered the box in his hands. “Oh yeah, I brought you some food since you skipped lunch.”

“That’s nice of you, but I’m good,” Pidge said, but then a large growl echoed the hall between them. A moment of silence passed and then Pidge slumped, looking embarrassed and pointedly not looking at Hunk.

“It’s fine, dude,” he insisted, pushing the box into Pidge’s hands. “Just think of it as a snack before dinner. Oh! Speaking of dinner, we should go find Keith and eat together after class. Team bonding and all.”

“I’ll pass,” Pidge said, even as he was unabashedly eating from the take out box as they walked. “I’m kind of busy. And I doubt I’ll be hungry if I’m eating right now, anyway.”

“Ok, but if you don’t eat now, you’ll probably just get hungry later when the kitchens are closed. Think of it as planning ahead so you don’t have to waste time later on modifying a keycard to break into the kitchen for a midnight snack!”

“Is this speaking from experience?” Pidge raised an eyebrow in amusement.

Hunk shrugged noncommittally. “So, dinner?”

Pidge looked thoughtful, and Hunk tried not to internalize that. Pidge looked really busy - he must have been to forget to eat for several hours - so it wasn’t his fault that Pidge didn’t want to hang out. _If he says no_ , Hunk thought, _it’s not your fault_. “Ok, sure.”

“Great!” _Congrats, Hunk. This was all you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> update may come later than Friday next week because i'm moving. or it could come earlier because i'm out of classes. who knows?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> @ y'all who gave me kudos and also y'all who actually read my authors notes and were expecting weekly updates: i'm so so so sorry for doing you so dirty and making y'all wait like a month. i'm alive and moved, so updates should be regular again! i have also put together an outline for this growing monster of a fic and it's looking like it's going to be about 10-11 chapters! anyways, enjoy! (?)

In the end, they don’t find Keith.

But maybe it’s for the better, given how it would have been awkward to have to watch Lance try to split his time glaring at two different people rather than just the one.

Lance’s team was amicable and friendly - Hunk had met them when they had passed by their table to say hi to Lance when he plopped down next to them shortly after Hunk and Pidge had given up on looking for Keith - but both of them belonged to different friend groups, so they left Lance to join their individual friends at another table pretty quickly.

The romanticized image of simulation teams was that they were close as family and would potentially be the team you went to space with, especially after Takashi Shirogane and Matt Holt - who were members of the same simulation team - were assigned on the Kerberos mission together. That being said, it wasn’t uncommon for teams to be acquaintances only and for people to stick with the friends they made on their individual tracks or in their dorm halls. Both he and Lance were kind of idealists on that front, though, Lance a little more romantic about it than him. But, thankfully, Lance seemed to be taking this in stride; Hunk had initially been worried he’d get lonely if his team wasn’t receptive to hanging out when not in class. Instead, for better or for worse, Lance seemed intent on bothering Hunk’s team.

“So, I guess you _do_ have time to mess around, _Gunderson,"_  Lance said, a moment after Lance’s team had left to join their friends.

“Last time I checked, eating food fell under the category of things you have to do to stay alive,” Pidge glared back at Lance, a combination of calm and condescending that looked out of place on someone so babyfaced. “I wouldn’t call it messing around.”

“ _Lance_ ,” Hunk scolded when he saw Lance bristling. “Come on, dude.”

Lance blinked at him, clearly trying to read something in his expression, and then - to Hunk’s surprise - relented immediately. Sort of. "Well, it’s good to know that you’re human and not some angry little robot. Anyway, you sittin’ here because you have no friends or something?”

Pidge’s glare deepened but Hunk held up a hand between them to diffuse the situation. “Ignore him, sometimes he’s mean to people to try to get them to open up to him.”

“Hey,” Lance complained but with little actual emotion. “Don’t reveal my techniques.”

“So, you fuck with people to try to get them to be friends with you?” Pidge raised an eyebrow at him. Hunk was still having a hard time consolidating the image of this tiny human with his big potty mouth. “That seems kind of counterintuitive.”

“You’d think so,” Lance smirked, poking a piece of broccoli off his plate and pointing it at Pidge with a flourish. “But it’s a technique that helped get me to where I am now: first name basis with everyone in our year and the most popular with the ladies.”

Pidge gave Hunk a curious look. “Knows everyone in our year, true. Ladies like him, less true.”

Lance deflated. “Not cool, dude.”

“I guess that’s still…” Pidge trailed off, quirking an eyebrow at Lance. “Impressive.”

“Of course it is,” Lance, naturally, preened at the compliment. “Anyway, you just come from class with Hunk? I didn’t know engineers and comms specs had the same courses.”

“They usually don’t,” Pidge sounded proud. “I just thought it would be a fun class.”

“Yeah, well,” Lance said around a spoonful of food, “I’m not that into all that crazy math stuff, but if you need to study together you can always use our room.”

“Yeah,” Hunk snorted. “If you clean it first.”

“Hey! I may have the laundry mess covered but the trash problem is all you, buddy.”

“It can’t be as bad as my room is right now,” Pidge admitted, a light flush on his cheeks. “Sorry you had to see that, Hunk. I haven’t had a chance to organize since classes started.”

“Not a problem, dude. You just moved in!” Hunk grinned reassuringly. “When Lance moved in, his mom-”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Lance actually looked a little embarrassed this time, a flush creeping up his neck. “Quit talking trash about me, dude. Besides, I don’t think Pidge here wants to hear about stuff my mom did.”

“Actually, I wouldn’t mind,” Pidge said, innocently, looking pretty excited about the whole thing. _That_ was unexpected, but he couldn’t tell if the sudden interest was because Pidge was homesick or because he just wanted to get dirt on Lance. He hoped it was the former, he really didn’t need to deal with another rivalry. Either way, Lance seemed to make the judgement call for himself that it would be fine that Pidge got more dirt on him if it meant keeping the conversation going.

“Fine, but I get to tell an embarrassing story about _you,_ too.”

In the end, Lance let him tell the embarrassing story about move-in day and he let Lance tell an equally embarrassing story about their first time at the principal's office. They sat together and exchanged stories for almost an hour and a half before Pidge finally decided he needed to get back to his project. When Hunk and Lance dropped him off at his dorm, he rounded the corner with an absentminded, “See you tomorrow, guys.”

* * *

 

They fell into something of a routine pretty quickly.

Shared simulations were only once a week - which they always _almost_ passed, but always failed for some small detail - but he and Pidge shared class everyday except Friday and Keith found him every other day to take on simulations runs. Despite the relative frequency with which he saw his teammates, he still hadn’t made the progress he had imagined he would have reached by now at being their friends.

No matter how hard he tried, he could never get that much out of Keith. Keith, who seemed to disappear when he wasn’t on the way in or out of a simulator and who seemed satisfied to answer even the most open-ended, most introspective questions he’d had the nerve to ask with one to ten word sentences. On a more positive note, Hunk was pleasantly surprised that Keith learned - and remembered - stuff about him. Since Hunk found that babbling through the opening waves of nausea helped minutely, he’d found himself chattering about his family and his home on and off after Keith “answered” a few of his questions. And Keith seemed uncharacteristically invested in Hunk’s stories rather than bored by them, asking follow up questions and bringing up relatives Hunk had mentioned previously with relative frequency for a guy who seemed content flying in silence.   

On the other hand, Pidge was proving to be an easier sell, but only marginally since he generally turned down all Hunk’s offers at hanging out aside from dinner after class. He and Hunk had sat next to each other everyday for almost three weeks and Hunk was satisfied to have progressed to note-passing during class in this time. It was a little childish, and mostly jokes about a topic brought up in class, but he found Pidge indulged his childish side often. When they would share notes or briefly study during dinner - much to Lance’s chagrin - Hunk would see doodles, words and numbers all around the margins of Pidge’s notes. Some were clearly bits of thoughts he probably had in the middle of class about whatever pet project he was building in his room, but others were just playful nonsense doodles. Hunk noted with delight that he was particularly talented at little cartoon cats and dogs.

Pidge also had the tenacious curiosity and lack of subtlety of a kid. At first Hunk thought the sporadic and often non-sequitur questions about building machinery Pidge would sometimes say over dinner or write in a quietly passed note during class were just that: random bursts of curiosity. It was only when Pidge asked two questions about troubleshooting a project where one piece didn’t work that Hunk realized the pattern to all the questions.

Pidge was collecting advice for his pet project. His pet project that apparently wasn’t doing so well at the moment.

And that was how Hunk ended up here, in front of Pidge’s door, with a roll of duct tape and some WD-40. When Pidge opened the door he recoiled slightly in surprise at the light from the hallway, which was already a bad sign. Then, when Hunk tried to look past Pidge and could barely see detail in the room, he sighed and gently pushed his way into Pidge’s room, flicking the light switch on the wall. Pidge visibly flinched, hand moving to shield his eyes and Hunk could barely contain the urge to sigh again.

“Dude, this is super bad for your eyes,” he tried not to sound too much like he was scolding Pidge, but honestly, he felt like he was scolding Pidge. “You and Lance are both going to have to wear the thickest glasses before you even graduate.”

“That’s _not_ how it works,” Pidge spat in response, unexpectedly venomous despite Hunk being no more naggy or nosy than he usually was.

“Whoa, sorry, did I wake you up from a nap or something?” Hunk started panicking at the prospect of having to defuse the bomb that was a sleep-deprived, frustrated Pidge. “My bad, man, I really didn’t mean to.”

“No,” Pidge mumbled as his eyes adjusted to the light. “Sorry I snapped at you. I’m just kind of...frustrated right now, is all.”

“Oh, it’s okay,” Hunk let out a breath of relief. At the very least it wasn’t _just_ his fault Pidge was in a mood. “Is this about your ‘radio’ or something?”

Pidge’s scowl deepened. Bingo.

“I don’t know where I keep going wrong,” he started pacing, circling what a piece of equipment that looked enough like a ham radio. “You know the feeling when you’ve written the perfect, _perfect_ code. And you _know_ it's perfect, and you know you didn’t make logical errors, didn’t use the wrong commands, didn’t do anything wrong, but it just _won’t work_. And then you go back and look at the code again and you forgot a _stupid_ semicolon on one _stupid_ line like a _stupid_ idiot.”

“Yeah? I mean, I think so?” Pidge didn’t even seem to notice him answering, though, coming to a stop and glaring at his project hard enough that a lesser scrap of metal would have cracked under the pressure.

“There’s something stupid I’m missing, I know it,” Pidge’s shoulders slumped, body language screaming defeat and a weirdly desperate kind of frustration. This, at least, was familiar. He’d had a similar outburst when he was back in Hawaii, working on a project that could potentially get him a scholarship to any institution he wanted to attend. _His parents wouldn’t have to pay for him to go to college so they could save up for his little sister instead. She could go wherever she wanted, and he could, too. All he had to do was make this_ stupid thing _work._

“Hey, don’t worry if it doesn’t work,” he started quickly. “Sometimes when you make things more and more complex, it gets harder to notice a simple mistake. It happens to everyone, definitely happened to me. And it sucks but sometimes you just have to take all your hard work apart to find the problem. But hey, sometimes when you’re taking it apart you realize you could have done something better, right?”

Pidge is quiet at that, the only sign he’d been listening to Hunk the subtle change of his expression from frustration to something alarmingly melancholy. Hunk started panicking, thinking he’d said something wrong, when Pidge took a deep breath in and out.  

“Thanks, Hunk,” Pidge said with a small voice. And then he kicked his project, the thing creaking loudly in protest. “Guess I’m starting over with you.”

“Well, that’s good! Because I’ve come with the engineer’s cure-all for your woes.” He held up the duct tape and WD-40 he had almost forgotten was the reason he came today. Pidge snorted a laugh as he took them from Hunk, which Hunk counted among the many small victories of the past three weeks.

“My dad used to joke about that stuff all the time. Said he could fix almost anything with it. My mom would tell him he was just too cheap to call a repairman when the heater gave out,” Pidge laughed, still sounding a little melancholy. He sighed again, tapping his project with his foot. “I’m not building anything fancier than this radio, but thanks, Hunk. Where do you get this stuff on campus?”

“Engineers get keycard access to most of the labs, it’s some pretty cool stuff. We’ve got a 3D printer and everything!” Pidge looked excited at that, and honestly, he was still pretty excited about it himself so he couldn’t judge. “I can show you sometime. It might help, with, uh, _whatever it is_ you’re working on?”

“It’s a radio.”

“There are easier ways to build a radio, dude,” Hunk raised an eyebrow at Pidge expectantly. He doubted Pidge would almost rage-quit building a radio. He sat next to the guy in class, saw the way he could have easily made it to the top of the class in the engineering track not to mention noting that he was already among the top of the class in his own track. He knew it was well within his capacity to put together a radio. Pidge glared back, cracking only when he realized Hunk wouldn’t leave his room until he had some kind of answer.

“Fine,” Pidge huffed. “It really is a radio, though. I’m just trying to get it to scan _space_ for signals instead of the local stretch of the interstate.”

“Wait, wait. Scan space for signals? Like, alien signals?” Hunk sounded more dubious than he wanted to, enough that Pidge tensed and looked at once embarrassed and on edge, like he was challenging Hunk to say that he was crazy. “I mean, you know they already have something for that right? Daily updates, public access reports. You can download it as a screensaver and everything.”

“I _know_ ,” Pidge scowled, but he sounded relieved that Hunk hadn’t been immediately weirded out that he was looking for aliens. “I just don’t exactly...agree with the way they set everything up.”

“Don’t agree. With a team of scientists.” Hunk wanted to laugh because that was just so _Pidge_.

Pidge just shrugged in response. “We’re here to _be_ scientists, right? If I can do it better, I’ll do it better. Besides, I don’t want to have to go through a potentially corruptible third party for things like this. I don’t need to worry about the integrity of the data if I’m the one collecting it.”

“Okay, Mulder,” Hunk snorted. There was more to this, definitely. A pet project born out of curiosity wouldn’t have made Pidge as upset as he just was, but he’d let it go for now, satisfied with the progress he was making. Pidge pouted at him for the joke, but by the time he started gently pushing Hunk out of his room, he had an amused little grin on his lips.

“Get _out_ of here, Hunk.”  

“I’m not important enough to be Scully?” Hunk pouted in return. “I’m hurt.”

Pidge chuckled again, finally succeeding in pushing Hunk past the door frame. “Thanks again for the help, Hunk.”

“No problem, Pidge,” he grinned back. “Remember, the truth is out there.”

Pidge rolled his eyes and shut the door in Hunk’s face.

* * *

 

Even after almost a month of regular contact, Keith was proving to be a much harder sell.

While Keith never had a problem finding him when he wanted to go for a run on the simulator, Hunk found that finding Keith was like chasing a stray cat. That is to say, Hunk could only find Keith when Keith wanted to be found.

This made it difficult for team building, because he could only drag Pidge with him for so long without the other boy claiming to be busy and leaving and also because Keith would often disappear immediately after he was done with whatever required him to venture into the world of mortals without any warning. Keith was also almost always missing over the weekend, which was weird because aside from taking a bus into the sleepy neighboring town for pie and conversation - which struck Hunk as an un-Keith thing to do - there wasn’t really anything to do aside from studying and Hunk never ran into him in any libraries. After almost two weeks of this game of teammate tag, Hunk finally gave in and stayed behind to shakily ask Phillips if he knew where Keith went when he wasn’t in the cadet wings.

Phillips had merely shrugged, which was discouraging because it disproved two of his working theories on Keith: first, that Keith was just hiding in the officer wing when he couldn’t be found and second, that Phillips would be able to tell him everything about Keith if he just got the courage to ask something potentially personal about his teammate of a ranked officer. But Phillips _had_ supplied him with some useful information. Namely, the hall of the dorms he and a few of Keith’s friends (how many upperclassmen friends did this guy have?) had helped move Keith into at the beginning of the year.

He had gone there after dinner with Pidge and before curfew in the hopes that he could maybe get Keith to concede to a snack before bed. He was briefly inspired with hope when the door opened - he hadn’t expected anyone to answer at all - but this hope quickly dimmed when, instead of Keith, he found another boy blinking back at him.

“Sorry, I have no idea where he is most of the time,” the boy had said when he asked if he knew if Keith was around. From the brief look of the room he got past the boy in the doorway, he could already tell Keith’s side from his roommate’s. It was neat, but only by virtue of being completely Spartan in content. His bed was unmade, but his uniform was folded neatly on top of it. His desk was completely bare except for a well worn reading lamp, two of the textbooks he recognized from Lance’s introductory piloting courses and a framed picture that was sitting with the picture side down. “He’s gone most of the day and usually doesn’t come back until way after curfew, so I barely see him.”

And that was how Hunk ended up here, _after curfew_ , slowly climbing the stairs leading to the roof with short, ragged breaths that had nothing to do with physical exertion. Curfew had begun ten minutes ago, so he was definitely going to get busted. On top of that, he was in an access-restricted (but minimally guarded) area, one of the last bullets on his mental “places Keith could go after curfew and not get caught and expelled _immediately_ ” list. He should have gone back a long time ago, but some weird determination had taken hold. He’d always been nosy. It was a flaw his mother would scold him for regularly. But this time something in him felt like being nosy would lead to the breakthrough that he needed to get through to Keith like the WD-40 and duct tape had for Pidge the other day. But now, with curfew almost half an hour in the past, he was beginning to regret it. _Maybe he could play it off? If Keith wasn’t here he could run back and pretend he’d been studying at the library and didn’t hear curfew getting called. Maybe that’d get a demerit but he wouldn’t get lectured. Right?_ Lance was way better at this kind of thing. But if he’d brought Lance he definitely wouldn’t be able to find Keith.

And he did. Find Keith, that is. He scarcely had to open the doors to the roof before he saw him, seated dangerously at the edge of the roof, one leg dangling over the side and the other tucked to his chest. He had a blanket wrapped around his shoulders and didn’t notice Hunk immediately, eyes focused on the stars above.

Sometimes Hunk forgot that for all their similar aloofness, Pidge and Keith were entirely different. Pidge’s distance came from his single-minded determination to accomplish _something_ , something about that space radio he still didn’t feel like sharing the truth about. Keith was Pidge’s opposite in this regard. His distance came from drifting in and out of focus, from wandering without aim other than getting himself into a simulator. Pidge’s attitude still concerned Hunk, but it at least felt guided and intentional. Keith, on the other hand, just seemed like a lost kid, clinging to the only familiar thing he had.

He hadn’t put this together until just now, watching Keith curled up on the roof, eyes looking to the stars with tired eyes. They all came here, to the _Galaxy_ Garrison, because they felt something when they looked into the vast expanse of space. Wonder, curiosity, ambition. Everyone had an individual myriad of emotions reflected in their eyes when they looked at the stars. He’d seen excitement and a vibrant, unshakeable determination in Lance during their first semester, when all the cadets had been taken on a field trip to the desert to identify constellations. He was sure someone could look at him and see something similar.

But Keith looked to the sky with none of that, just a burned out, dull expression, like he’d already been up there and found it wasn’t what he had expected it to be. Like instead of finding some piece of himself there, he’d lost something instead.

He felt overwhelmed suddenly, the weight of this discovery sinking a heavy stone in his gut. He had thought he’d just be helping Keith through teamwork and communication, that he’d just be making a friend. He still wanted that, but this was different. He wanted to help Keith with whatever this was, but he didn’t know how to even begin or if Keith even wanted him to. Why would he? He was just some classmate that happened to share a simulator every once in a while.

When Keith finally noticed him, blinking in muted surprise, Hunk almost panicked.

“S-sorry,” he stuttered, almost jumping when the door clicked closed behind him. “I know me showing up here is creepy. I just went to check on you and your roommate said you don’t come back until after curfew so I got worried and I couldn’t find you and I thought, if you didn’t get caught yet there were only a few places you could go so I checked and I’m sorry, I didn’t-”

“It’s fine,” Keith interrupted, sounding tired but otherwise unbothered. The silence that stretched after that was heavy and unforgiving, at least for Hunk. It must have only been a few seconds, but it felt like hours. Keith was, surprisingly, the one who breaks the silence.

“I come here when I can’t sleep,” Keith offered in response to the unspoken question between them: _Why are_ you _here?_

“But your roommate says you’re missing almost every night!” Hunk wheezed, unable to keep the panic from earlier away from his throat.

Keith just shrugged in response, alarmingly nonchalant about this whole thing. “I can’t sleep most nights.”

“If it’s that,” Hunk dragged in a breath, forcing himself to calm down and focus on Keith right now. Keith, who he’d found alone and tired on the roof and who had just admitted to chronic sleep problems that were undoubtedly attached to something else. “If it’s that, I know some stuff that helped my sister when we were younger. I mean, it’s not all _stuff_ , per se, some of it’s just like breathing exercises? Or thought exercises I guess? I’ll try to put some stuff together for tomorrow, I mean, if you want. I mean, it’s just that it can’t be good for you to be out here almost every night, you know?”

Keith blinked at him and he only then realized how quickly he had been talking.

“I’m fine, really,” Keith said, finally, the faintest glint of amusement in his eyes. “But I guess I’ll try whatever you have.”  

“C-cool,” he could hear the relief in his voice and Keith probably could too, but that brief feeling fell away when his nosiness shoved its way past his relief and reared its ugly head. He felt as simultaneously anxious, concerned and curious as the day he’d gone through his sister’s things see if her diary held the answer to the mystery of why she kept losing her appetite at dinner. But he doubted whatever Keith’s answer was would be as easy as him finding out about some kindergarten bullies. “Keith, I- I mean, do you want to talk about it or anything?”

Keith’s tired nonchalance abruptly disappeared into the silence between them, his entire demeanor tensing. _The same response he’d had when Phillips asked almost the same question_. _Was this whole thing, sneaking out every night to sit on the roof, about whatever Phillips seemed so concerned about?_

“I can take you back down now, but we might get caught,” Keith finally said, clearly hoping to cut the conversation off there. Hunk wasn’t too offended, he had expected as much. “I usually go back after 3am when the night guards stop making rounds.”

“I- I can wait, if you don’t mind me being here.” Hunk very much did not want to stay, but the thought of getting both himself and Keith - who already seemed to have beef with Iverson - caught was enough to make sitting in the cold seem like a preferable alternative. He looked around sheepishly. “Uh, there wouldn’t happen to be a comfy little roof bed I can take a nap on in the meantime, would there?”

“Oh,” Keith, for his part, looked relieved Hunk wasn’t going to pursue the matter. He scooted himself back away from the edge and patted at the ground around him until he produced a second blanket that he held out to Hunk. “Here.”

Hunk took it with a thank you, silently mourning his back as he set about making a comfortable patch of roof for himself that wouldn’t be too creepy close to Keith nor too far in a way that suggested he thought Keith was creepy. Keith just kicked back, one foot still just over the edge of the roof, looking as casual as if he was lounging on a couch and not on the roof after curfew.

“Goodnight,” Hunk said, awkwardly, as he tugged the little blanket Keith had given him over himself. It was scratchy and smelled like the desert. Keith mumbled something that sounded like goodnight in response and rolled over, quickly feigning sleep to avoid further conversation, which was fine because Hunk needed some quiet himself to process the both revealing and mysterious thing he’d accidentally discovered about Keith and calm himself down.

He felt at once exhausted and too wired to rest, so he traced the constellations like he would when he was a little kid, in a new place for the first time and quietly restless, before he had his little siblings to take care of and he and his parents still shared a single room in many different cities and countries. _Count the sheep, anak._ His father would say to him, a murmur in the dark, when his restlessness was enough to wake him. His mother was always the heavier sleeper. And Hunk would always try, but he could never remember what sheep looked like. The image was just a faded memory from an old alphabet book they’d lost during one of their moves. The stars, though, they were always shining and they were always there, no matter where they went. So he’d look up through an open window or peer through the cracks in the Venetian blinds and trace them into pictures and shapes.

He wondered if that was why Keith came here. Why Keith would try to find comfort here when he seemed just as troubled to be there anyway. What stories Keith told himself that made him look so worn out even in the face of thousands and thousands of shining stars and a universe of possibilities.

He drifted slowly to sleep trying to trace the pieces together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> what's this? angst in my high school au-esque fanfic? it's more likely than you think! (but also less likely than you think, don't worry)
> 
> also i set up a side tumblr (brosura . tumblr. com) so y'all can yell at me/give me feedback/etc. i set it up on mobile also so for the sake of ur eyes plz don't look at it on a browser it is so ugly. 
> 
> also also the screensaver thing Hunk was talking about is a real life thing it's called SETI@home ALieNs Y'aLL
> 
> see you next week!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for all the kudos everyone! special thanks to maychorian for the tumblr rec (ALSO I HAVE BEEN LURKIN ON UR FICS FOR AGES WAO WHAT AN HONOR, READ THEM FAM THEY ARE GR8)! 
> 
> i will say i took a while writing this chapter because i was working on a few other fics on the side but in my heart the truth is that i was just procrastinating. as usual, thanks for the patience and enjoy!

Keith was surprisingly gentle when he woke Hunk up in the darkness of the early morning. If it were Lance, he would have gotten a nice punt to the shoulder, and Hunk had always preferred the method of rolling his siblings around until they realized they could either wake up or fall off the bed. To his relief, Keith just nudged him awake, saying his name in a harsh whisper like he _wasn’t_ trying to wake him up, and offered him a hand to get him off the ground. He even waited patiently for Hunk to stretch his back before instructing him to stay quiet for the duration of their walk back to avoid accidentally tipping anyone off.

The hallways were eerily silent and dimly lit as Keith led them back to the dorms. Hunk would have been more scared about all of this, but he was slightly put at ease by the weird confidence Keith radiated as he walked. He was also groggy to the point that he didn’t realize they had been wandering for a while before Keith finally stopped. It took a few moments of Keith pointing to the nameplate on the door for Hunk to realize that _oh, this was his room_. Keith had been looking for Hunk’s room, apparently deeming half-awake Hunk incapable of finding it himself. _Good call._ Hunk gave him a sleepy wave as a combination thanks and goodnight before Keith disappeared around the corner.

Right now, he only wanted two things: a nice hot shower and to desperately cram in as much sleep as he could get before the morning reveille. What he was going to get, it seemed, was 20 questions.

“Hunk!” Lance sounded relieved as he rushed at Hunk almost immediately after Hunk had shut the door behind him. “You hunk of cheese! What did you do? You never stay out this late past curfew, I was worried! What happened? Are you ok? Did you get stuck or something? Did you get caught?”

Hunk just blinked at Lance’s rapidfire questions, taking in the glow of Lance’s desk lamp reflecting off a few opened books and a messy arrangement of papers covered in chicken scratch. “Have you been studying this whole time?”

“I couldn’t sleep while you were just out there, dude!” Lance looked scandalized, as if Hunk was suggesting he was a bad friend and not just asking an honest question. “I tried to sneak out to find you, but some night rounds guy caught me and shoved me back in here. I’ve just been studying to keep myself occupied until you got back. If you didn’t make it by dawn, I was going straight the the principal’s office to report you missing or something. I was _so_ sure your clumsy butt was stuck in some piece of machinery in the lab or something.”

Hunk was equal parts touched and amused. He’d always been appreciative of Lance’s tendency to be overzealous in friendships, but seeing him transform into a veritable mother hen like was hilarious, especially since the last time he’d seen Lance, the guy was trying to flirt with a female instructor. Lance glared at him when he couldn’t control the short laugh at the thought. “I’ve snuck out before, Lance.”

“Yeah, but you always ask me to come with you first. And if I’m not around you always leave a note. And yes, I checked the commissary _first thing_. Now answer my question! What happened?”

“I went to find Keith-”

“And he kidnapped you,” Lance hissed with a delirious kind of certainty. “I knew it.”

“He didn’t kidnap me, Lance. Look, it’s a long story, but the gist of it is that I went to see if he wanted to hang out and lost track of time, so I ended up getting stuck out after curfew with him. We were just waiting until the night guards stopped making rounds to come back.”

“He kidnapped you _and_ held you hostage.”

Hunk rolled his eyes. “Lance, come on.”

“Still, though,” Lance actually looked serious, but Hunk didn’t know if it was just the deep bags under his eyes. “We’ve been roommates for almost a year now and you haven’t picked up any of _my_ reckless bad habits. You’ve only known this guy for like three weeks and he’s already got you missing curfew. Either way, he’s bad news.”

Well, Lance wasn’t exactly wrong, but he wasn’t exactly right either. There were a lot of things about what happened tonight that needed some unpacking, but right now Hunk could only give a tired shrug and a mostly true excuse. “Dude, this was totally on me and my big, nosy nose. Keith didn’t even realize I was looking for him until it was way past curfew already.”  

Lance eyed him up and down, concern evident. But then Hunk felt his mouth open in a wide yawn, setting off a chain reaction in Lance, who seemed to only just now realize that he had been awake for the entirety of the night.

“Well, I already know I’m going to have a huge headache tomorrow morning,” Lance said, wiping the tears from his yawn away absentmindedly.

“Ditto, dude,” Hunk flopped down on his bed, all thoughts of a shower abandoned in favor of the sweet embrace of sleep. He heard Lance flick the light off and toss himself loudly into bed across the room.

“Just so it’s clear,” came Lance’s voice from the darkness. “When I smother you with a pillow tomorrow morning because I’m tired and angry, it’s not your fault. It’s Keith’s.”

“Good to know.”

* * *

 When Hunk woke up, he felt all kinds of awful. His head hurt, his back hurt, his body felt weirdly itchy because he hadn’t bathed and Lance threw his pillow at him the minute morning reveille woke them both up from what must have only been two hours of sleep.

And he couldn’t focus through his morning lecture. At first, it was just because he could barely keep awake, but as his drowsiness faded and his encounter with Keith on the roof started feeling less and less like a weird stress dream, the anxiety surrounding the reality of situation crept in. Keith hadn’t seemed weirded out by the fact that Hunk had basically stalked him, but that could have easily been a brief, tired acceptance that would fade as soon as Keith put some thought into it.

Like Hunk was doing now, for example, because _oh my god_ he had basically stalked Keith. Should he apologize? Would that make it weirder? Should he bring it up the next time they met or not? Would _not_ bringing it up even be an option, since he still wanted to be a good friend to Keith about whatever was bothering him? But would Keith even want to talk to him ever again? _Why did he always have to be so nosy?_ And he vaguely remembered offering Keith some help with the insomnia, but if by some miracle Keith didn’t avoid him entirely today, he hadn’t even mentally organized all the things he and his mom would do to help his little sister sleep in a way that would be even helpful. He spent his entire first block of classes unable to focus on anything but these thoughts and the occasional, traitorous reminder that _he was going to have to catch up on all this tonight_ , so he had planned on taking a quick nap in lieu of actually eating lunch today to free up more time after class for cramming.

Or at least that was his plan, and then he turned the corner and found the source of his anxiety.

Ordinarily, he’d be pleasantly surprised that he was able to stumble across Keith at all in the cadet wings and interacting with cadets their year, no less, however one sided the conversation seemed to be. But today, he had slept maybe two comfortable hours and was very nervous about how Keith would react to him, so he just hoped and prayed Keith wouldn’t notice him, at least for now.

Naturally, Keith noticed him. He almost felt bad for trying to avoid him with how immediately relieved Keith looked when his eyes flicked instinctively towards the source of movement in his periphery and found Hunk’s familiar form there. Keith said something quiet that Hunk couldn’t hear to the two cadets and immediately broke from their little talking circle to approach Hunk. _Oh, I’m just his escape route._ Hunk thought, a little disappointed despite himself. _Well, that was fine_.  

“Oh, hey Keith,” Hunk said simply as Keith greeted him flatly and fell in step next to him. His voice came out a tired croak, but he was secretly grateful it made him sound calmer than he actually was. “Did you want to go on the sims right now?”

Keith quirked an eyebrow at him and shook his head. “You don’t look that great. The point is so you don’t get sick, remember?”

“Oh haha, yeah.” Keith’s brows furrowed at his flat delivery. He looked… upset? Concerned? Sometimes it was hard to tell with Keith and Hunk being exhausted didn’t help him quell the panic when Keith broke eye contact to look at the ground. _This is it_. His mind supplied unhelpfully. _This is where he tells you off for being weird._ He found himself bracing for it, so when Keith let out a quiet “sorry” he actually had to physically stop moving to properly process it. “Wait, what?!”

“Sorry about last night,” Keith stopped in front of him, meeting his eyes again with more certainty. “You said you only got stuck out after curfew because you were worried about me. I go there most times I’m not back by curfew and I know how to not get caught. You don’t need to do that again.”

“Dude!” Hunk’s voice cracked at the sudden strain and he had to cough it off. “Don’t apologize! I should be apologizing to _you_! You didn’t ask me to look for you or anything! I’m a really nosy guy, it’s a fatal flaw and all, and I didn’t mean to make it a weird stalkery privacy invasion thing, but I get if you’re weirded out by the fact it turned out like that. So _I’m_ sorry, if I made you uncomfortable and all.”

Keith blinked at him and then let out a small huff that could have been a laugh. “It’s fine. I mean, you _were_ kind of nosy, but it’s not _that_ weird. I knew someone nosier than you, at any rate,” he paused, and suddenly looked _so lost_ \- expression similar to the one he wore when Hunk found him on the roof but sadder somehow - then it was gone quickly as he turned, starting to walk in the direction they were originally heading again. “I’m fine if you’re fine.”

“I’m fine!” Hunk said a little too quickly as he caught up to Keith. “But if it’s all the same to you, I’m probably not going to see you on the roof past curfew any time soon. Not that you should be up there either, dude. Don’t think I forgot about the whole sleep aid tips thing. I just gotta, you know, sleep first.”

“I figured as much,” Keith shrugged, but he seemed stiff, like it was taking effort to be casual, and Hunk could sense the underlying discomfort in it. He could guess why: he was waiting to see if Hunk would bring up whatever thing he’d dodged talking about on the roof, no doubt readying himself to deflect the question Hunk chose to ask.

“Soooo what are you up to?” Hunk forced himself to ask instead.

“I’m going to lunch,” Keith tilted his head at him, looking expectant. “Aren’t you going to lunch?”

Hunk bid farewell to his hope for a nap, trying hard not to let the disappointment reach his face. _I guess I am now_.

* * *

Going to lunch with Keith was something of an eye-opening experience. They had scarcely entered the room when it suddenly felt like everyone’s eyes were on them, like every carefully quiet conversation was about them. Keith seemed doubly uncomfortable, since he was the obvious target of the sudden attention.

It shouldn’t have been a surprise to Hunk, he’d been there when Keith beat the Garrison records at the solo flight simulators and became the talk of the town. But before they were part of the same team, he’d been part of that. He remembered, with guilt, staring himself, whenever Lance would sourly point Keith out amongst the crowds of cadets. He remembered that Keith had looked disinterested then, but now - up close - it was easy to see the uncomfortable hunch of his shoulders as they approached the lunch line.

Keith clearly didn’t thrive off recognition and attention the way Lance did. And he’d unwittingly trapped himself in a vicious cycle: his regular absence from the student wings had the unfortunate side effect of creating an aura of mystery about himself in a school that admitted students because of their curiosity. Hunk understood now why he tried to spend as little time as possible in the cadet wings.

It was a little sad to think about, but right now Hunk was mostly too tired to deal with the prospect of feeling like everyone was watching him eat. “Wanna just get sandwiches and sneak them into the library?”

Keith looked disproportionately grateful as he nodded. Lunch after that was otherwise uneventful. A little awkward, but the normal kind that came with spending one on one time with someone who was content with silence. He made it back to the room with just enough time for a thirty minute nap to the sight of his roommate slumped over with his face resting on an opened book. Lance jolted up at the sound of Hunk dropping his books on the table, cursed, and settled his head back down on one half of the book, tilting the other half up in front of his face as if he was going to read the page from that position.

_Just a little nap_ , Hunk thought, flopping down on his bed and drowsily telling Lance to wake him up in thirty minutes as he quickly lost hope of having enough energy to reach for his phone and program the alarm. Lance just grunted into his book. _Just a little nap._

He ended up sleeping through class.

* * *

“What’s up with you guys?” Pidge deadpanned when he walked up to Hunk and Lance both tiredly pushing their food around their plates at dinner. Hunk had woken up from his nap to Lance cursing at his alarm clock just fifteen minutes ago and both of them were still adjusting to the whole being awake thing. “You copying my look?”

Hunk tilted his head at Pidge, and he heard Lance’s disgruntled “wuh?” at his side. Pidge just pointed at the prominent bags under his eyes, fingers jolting his glasses a bit.

“Oh,” they both replied weakly. Pidge just sighed.

“Well, I told Professor Mackey you were sick. I guess it’s good to know I wasn’t lying. Anyways, here,” Pidge dropped his notebook on the table in front of Hunk. Hunk teared up at the invitation, taking the notebook with shaking hands.

“Pidge, you’re the best!” he said, voice quivering. Pidge looked equal parts alarmed and amused. “I’m so grateful to have you in my class!”

“No problem? Just...keep it until tomorrow. Also, try not to smear the ink with your tears of gratitude, if you can.”

“Got it,” Hunk wiped away a tear, putting Pidge’s notebook away just in case. “Does he want a doctor’s note or anything?”

Pidge just shrugged. “You’re his best student so I don’t think he’d ever assume you’d cut class. Anyway, what the hell _happened_ to you two?”

Hunk froze at that, because he hadn’t yet thought about how to bring up the potentially disheartening “I hang out with both of you, but separately” thing to either Keith or Pidge. He doubted either of them would really take it badly - given how they reacted to the prospect of hanging out as a team with disinterest on average - but it still made him feel guilty and he’d been stuck on the outside of enough growing friendships to know that it could hurt even when you weren’t expecting it. Before the silence could stretch too long, though, Lance groaned, flopping his head down onto the table so loudly people passing by stopped to give him a concerned look. They only left when Hunk mouthed “he’s okay” over the noise of Lance doing his best imitation of a dying whale. It took a moment for Lance’s groans to finally form into “fighter pilot appeal!”

“Oh yeah,” Pidge cocked his head to the side. “That’s next week, isn’t it?”

“The week after next,” Lance corrected after a moment where he looked genuinely terrified that he’d miscalculated the time.

“But on a Monday,” Hunk pointed out. “That’s _still_ less than two weeks.”

“Ugh, quit it, you moms,” Lance groaned again. “I’ve been pulling a few late nights just to catch up on material and Hunk here’s been dealing with my irregular sleep cycle. Sorry I didn’t wake us up from our naps, dude.”

Lance was covering for him, Hunk realized, feeling both guilty and grateful at once. He hoped Pidge didn’t hear it in his voice. “No problem, buddy.”

“Well, good luck,” Pidge said, surprisingly not sarcastic. “It might be better to focus less on protocols and start practicing in a sim at this point, though. Keith’s a good pilot, you could probably ask him for tips.” Hunk stared at Pidge for that, mostly because he hadn’t thought about what Keith and Pidge thought of _each other_ yet. Pidge took it as doubt, though. “What? You don’t think so?”

“No, no I agree. I just didn’t think I’d hear you say it.”

Pidge shrugged. “I don’t see why I wouldn’t. We’re all really good at what we do and I like that Keith doesn’t try to micromanage us even though Iverson keeps failing us.”

It was true, now that he thought about it. Despite their lackluster performance this far considering the expectations that came with being highly ranked, there was little to no tension between them at the start of every sim. The silences between them were awkward, but not awful, and it was admittedly nice not getting chewed out by _each other_ for their individual mistakes. But it was still good to hear there was no bad blood, at least on Pidge’s end. And Keith wasn’t subtle enough to keep negative feelings towards people a secret. He’d know by now if Keith disliked Pidge just like he’d known almost immediately that Keith disliked Iverson. He made a mental note to try harder to convince them to hang out together more often.

“Ha ha,” Lance teased from where he was still resting his head on the table. “Iverson keeps failing you guys.”

Hunk would have pinched Lance, but Pidge was very vocal about the fact he had no interest in Iverson’s opinion, another thing he and Keith seemed to have in common. _Mental note highlighted: common ground established, get them to hang out._

Pidge just rolled his eyes. “He’s gonna fail you, too, if you’re not ready.”

Lance just groaned and stuffed his head into his folded arms. Hunk groggily patted his back for comfort and then promptly gave up on the whole sitting thing and leaned heavily on Lance instead. Pidge snorted as they both drifted into a silence that almost put them to sleep again.

“Holy crap, you guys are dead. Did you not sleep at all last night or something?”

“I got like maybe four hours? Five with the nap,” Hunk said. Lance grumbled bitterly at his side because he had gotten _less_.

“That many?” Pidge actually laughed at that. “Oh my god, you guys are _weak_.”

_Mental note amended: do not let Pidge and Keith influence each other’s sleep cycles._

“Hunk,” Lance whined. “Why is he so mean today?”

Before Hunk could answer, Pidge tilted his glasses to make them shine ominously. “It’s because I live off your suffering, Lance.”

“I _knew_ it.”

* * *

Hunk was halfway through copying Pidge’s notes when he came across the doodle, prominently drawn in a corner of a page.

It was a crude rendition of a radio with several prominent bolts attached to it and a frowning face being hit by what appeared to be a bolt of lightning. A stick figure version of Pidge was behind it, wearing a labcoat with an alarmed look on his bespectacled face. “It’s alive!” Stick Figure Pidge yelled. The caption read, _It Works Now._  

Hunk laughed so hard that Lance got jealous and took a break from studying to watch cat videos on his phone, muttering an _“if you get to have fun, so do I”_ when Hunk tried to tell him to focus. So _that_ was why Pidge seemed to be in such a good mood. He took a pencil and drew a little oval shaped UFO above Stick Figure Pidge with a few words underneath for Pidge to find later:  _I want to believe._  

* * *

After the weekend, Keith and Pidge both started acting strangely. Hunk was surprised he could tell the difference, but it was hard _not_ to notice now that he had a baseline from the past three weeks.

It was like they had switched. Pidge stopped sticking around after dinner and skillfully dodged the question every time Hunk brought up the radio even though Pidge had practically _told_ him it worked. It was a little frustrating being shut out so quickly again, but Hunk tried not to take it personally since Pidge had accomplished something major for himself and the novelty of having a working pet project must have consumed a lot of his attention.

On the other hand, Keith was present more often during the day, joining Hunk more often between classes if only to avoid attention from other cadets. But he also seemed _less_ present somehow, zoning out alarmingly often in the middle of their conversations. He had been worried at first, remembering Camilla in the grocery store, breath coming out in puffs and staring forward with unfocused eyes. But it was different with Keith. Just moments where he very clearly lost focus in the moment, face tight like he was straining to hear something over the din of a crowd, and then he’d be back just like that. Hunk wondered if it was the insomnia finally catching up with him. He’d given Keith a fairly comprehensive list of the things that helped his sister with her insomnia before the weekend, but he hadn’t gotten a chance to follow up with him about whether or not they helped at all.

And Hunk wanted to be more a proactive for both Pidge and Keith, but honestly, he had his hands full with Lance already as the weekend between him and the fighter class appeal approached. Lance had a frustrating tendency to be less open about things that were actually bothering him, but it was pretty obvious now. He’d been all complaints last week, but now he was mostly just tense, skipping meals and casually dismissing Hunk’s concern and offers for help with humor at every turn and Hunk had no idea what he could do.

Well, Hunk _had_ an idea. He just hoped Keith didn’t remember Lance enough to turn him down immediately.

* * *

"Where do you go on the weekends, by the way?" he asked as he and Keith avoided the cafeteria yet again in the quiet of the library. He had hoped to ease Keith into the idea of getting him to let Lance into a simulator but he didn’t expect Keith to immediately tense, eyebrows furrowing, the way he had on the roof when Hunk had asked if he wanted to talk. Hunk held up his arms in a gesture of peace to hopefully diffuse the situation. "It's cool, you don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

Keith blinked at him, but seemed to relax. Hunk let out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding.

"I'm sorry, but I don't want to," he finally said, but there was no anger or tension in his tone. Just a tired kind of honesty that told Hunk it was a part of whatever deeply personal thing he was suffering through. The image of Keith on the roof flashed in Hunk’s mind, lonely and looking so tired but claiming he couldn’t sleep. He still hadn’t made any progress on that front.

"No problem, man," he said, not pressing the issue yet again. “I was actually asking because I just wanted to know if you’d be free any day before Monday. A friend of mine - well, you may know him as the guy who keeps dragging your pilot skills each simulation but I know him as Lance - really wants to make it to fighter class and his appeal’s on Monday but he doesn’t know how to ask for help. And I was wondering - and it’s totally cool if you don’t want to, so no pressure - I was wondering if you happened to be down to take him on a simulation like you did with me and give him a few tips? Maybe teach him a thing or two?”

Keith’s mouth was a tight line, eyebrows slightly furrowing into an expression Hunk was starting to understand was discomfort. A notch above his default flat expression but not quite the tense frustration he got whenever Iverson addressed him directly.

“I don’t know,” he trailed off. Hunk rushed to fill the silence.

“Like I said, cool if you don’t want to.” 

“It’s not that I don’t want to, I just don’t think I really can,” Keith admitted, looking almost embarrassed. “I’m not really a good teacher. _Shiro_ would always-” Keith cut himself off and Hunk was surprised at how _in pain_ he looked, but it was only a split second of emotion before he took a breath and repeated himself. “I’m not really a good teacher.”

“Hey, I think you’re fine!” Hunk reassured. He wasn’t sure what to do with that brief moment of raw emotion yet, but at least he could honestly address something. “You got me to stop puking in the air after just a month! I could probably eat a full meal and fly now! I mean, I won’t do that because I don’t like to tempt fate, but I’m sure I could! And you don’t have to think of it as a teaching thing, it’s tutoring at best!”

Keith looked uncertain still and Hunk was expecting a roundabout rejection, but Keith just turned around and surprised him again. “If he can make it before my afternoon class at 3pm tomorrow, we can start from there.”

Hunk beamed at Keith, excited at his unexpected success. Lance would definitely whine, but he’d never give up the opportunity at this point.

“See you then, teach.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next chapter: RiValRY InteNSIFIES!
> 
> i am a little inconsistent on answering comments here (sorry i definitely read and appreciate all of them!) since i mainly do reading/everything on my phone where i get logged out constantly and only log on my computer to post, but if you [yell at me on tumblr](http://brosura.tumblr.com/) i will yell back from the abyss


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> STRAP IN KIDS ITS EXPOSITION TIME
> 
> (sorry for the wait fam)
> 
> also just a warning there is relatively detailed description of smoking in this chapter but none of the underage characters are smoking (it’s an older original character managing his anxiety)
> 
> also one more thing I wrote the majority of this chapter before the reveal that hunk was samoan and was functioning under the headcanon that he was at least part filipino, i’ll try to write it out by the next chapter but i have a few idiosyncrasies from my very filipino family (not exclusively filipino idiosyncrasies, i feel, but can't be too careful) that were kind of important to the vibe in this chapter n i’m sorry

Hunk, for the record and on the record, wanted to take back everything he had said. Keith was a _terrible_ teacher. Flying came easily to him, so Hunk should have guessed that instructing less naturally gifted students would have been a challenge. But Hunk hadn’t anticipated Keith not even being able to communicate _any_ of what made him a good pilot in a useful way. In fairness, though, it was a two way disaster of an educative experience, because Lance was a _terrible_ student.

“I already told you!” Keith hissed, almost looking a little green himself. “ You can’t just punch it without making sure you’re evened out first!”

“Ok well, how do you suppose I do that smart guy?” Lance yelled back, but he sounded neither angry, guilty or interested in what Keith had to say.

“You _even out the craft_ , I think you should be able to _feel_ that!”

“I thought I was plenty even!”

“We were flying _diagonally!”_

They continued bickering like that, a constant stream of noise that was _not_ helping Hunk, who was desperately trying to control his gag reflex from the back of the craft. Keith had tried to wrench the controls from Lance earlier, but that had only resulted in them almost flipping the craft over onto its back, something he hadn’t known was even possible in the simulators. Even Keith looked scared.

But Lance, for his part, seemed unapologetic as he fiddled excitedly with the controls of the simulator. Hunk wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt since getting to fly a fighter class craft, even if it was only a simulator, was a rare privilege for him, but his stomach wasn’t nearly as merciful.

“Calm down, will you?” Lance said, tilting the craft in a way that was suspiciously intentional because Keith had to sit down and stop hovering like an agitated backseat driver over his shoulder.

“How am I supposed to be calm when you’re at the wheel?!” Keith wheezed, looking way more distressed than Hunk had ever seen him.  

“Relax, I’m just seeing what this baby can do,” Lance promptly pulled hard to the left and Hunk felt his stomach drop. Keith, who had been preoccupied yelling at Lance, took one look at Hunk, paled in realization and rounded on Lance anew.

“Look at what you’re doing!” Keith yelled. “Hunk’s getting sick!”

“It’s not my fault you’re such a bad teacher! This one’s on you, buddy.”

“I’m not the one that just tried to _put us into a barrel roll.”_

“End simulation!” Hunk finally yelled. The shuttle jolted to a halt and Hunk had to swallow to prevent the bile from triggering a full blown explosion inside the cockpit.

Keith and Lance both looked at him in concern, but he just bolted out of the module. He only just made it to the trash can by the moderator’s office when he emptied the contents of his stomach on top of someone’s coffee cups and leftover napkins from lunch. Phillips met him at the trash can with a bottle of water, laughing openly.

“Man,” he said, wiping tears from the corner of his eyes. “Your friend is a riot! I’ve never seen Keith riled up like that.”

Hunk tried to respond, but his stomach answered instead and he hugged the trash can tighter.

“Hey buddy,” he heard Lance somewhere to his right. “Are you going to be ok?”

When he hazarded taking his face out of the trash can, he found Lance crouched next to him and Keith’s head peeking out from over his shoulder, both of them wearing matching looks of concern.

“Lance and I have to go to class,” Keith said, sounding uncertain. _He’s asking you if you’re ok_ _,_ Hunk’s brain supplied.

“Yeah,” Hunk said, choking back another round. “Yeah, you two go ahead. I’m just going to stay here until I die.”

Keith looked even more concerned, but Lance quickly wheeled him around and shoved him in the direction of the exit. “I’ll write you a good eulogy, dude. I won’t mention the puking and everything. See your ghost at dinner!”

Hunk croaked a “see you!” but he wasn’t sure if they’d heard it since he said it directly into the trash can. He heard their fading conversation as he caught his breath. _“So, intimidated by my skills hotshot?” “If by intimidated you mean terrified, then yes. Absolutely.”_

It was weird hearing Keith being so openly emotive right out of the gate and he was almost jealous that Lance was able to get him to that level after talking to him just once. But then again, he’d never been comfortable using Lance’s so called “techniques” - which sometimes included a bit of friendly bullying - so Lance had always been better at getting new people familiar with him, apparently including Keith.

That, and he was too busy feeling nauseous to feel jealous.

“Here, kid,” Phillips said, handing him the water bottle. Hunk took it gratefully, washing away the taste of bile in his mouth. He looked up to try to say thank you, but paused when he saw Phillips watching Keith and Lance go, looking thoughtful. “Said your friend’s a pilot, right? Has he said anything about Keith skipping class lately?”

“I’m not sure, but he hasn’t skipped for at least the last week, I see him go after lunch,” Hunk said, noting the way Phillips looked relieved. “Was Keith skipping class before or something?”

“He was,” Phillips said, simply, not elaborating even as Hunk stared expectantly. _Great, why did everyone get so mysterious when it came to Keith?_ Hunk sighed.

“Ok,” Hunk finally said. “Ok, so I can tell you’re concerned, but skipping a few classes isn’t that bad, right? I mean, I skipped one the other day! Which...I would totally appreciate you not telling Professor Mackey. S-sir.”

“You’re fine, kid,” Phillips said, an amused look on his face. “And no it’s not bad to miss a few. Back in the day, I’d play hooky every once in awhile, too. Only a problem if you’re on probation for something.”

“O-oh. Like Keith?” Phillips nodded and Hunk could only swallow. He didn’t like where this was going, but he couldn’t ignore that itch to _know something_ about Keith. “W-was Keith on probation for something?”

“Yep,” Phillips said, oh so helpful as usual.

“O-oh, ok. Um, why?”

Phillips stared at Hunk for a moment, expression thoughtful before it seemed to settle on some kind of acceptance, and then shrugged. “Happens when you get expelled.”

“Wait. What?!” Hunk was honestly _thrown_ by this because this, this, _this_ was major news. The Garrison was too small for gossip like this _not_ to spread, and he was sure at least _Lance_ would have known.

“I’m not surprised you don’t know,” Phillips looked nonchalant. “Not many people knew about it since his expulsion ended up being revoked almost immediately, but he was expelled for insubordination for a few days last semester. So, I’m just worried he’s skipping class because that would violate the conditions of his probation period.”

“Whoa, whoa, pause,” Hunk said, bringing up his hands. “Keith got expelled?! How is he not, you know, _still expelled?!”_

“Some buddies and I got him back in as a favor to a friend, that’s all.”

“That’s all? That doesn’t sound like that’s all, _at all_. What and how and _why?"_  Hunk wheezed, clutching his chest. “I mean, I’m glad Keith’s still here. But, why? Aren’t you technically an officer? So, insubordination, that’s to _you,_  isn’t it? But you overturned his expulsion? For a friend, that _isn’t_ Keith? And just who _are_ you anyway?”

Phillips snorted at his perplexed ramble that Hunk quickly realized was _way too casual_ since he was still talking to a _ranked_ officer, regardless of how chummy the guy was with Keith. He blanched and backpedaled, sputtering out an apology that Phillips quickly and easily accepted.

“So what I’m getting from all _that_ ,” Phillips said, smirking at a very flushed Hunk, “is ‘how did Keith get expelled' and 'who am I to Keith.’ Is that right?”  

Hunk nodded, still a little mortified by the situation.

“Well, that’s a long story,” Phillips said, getting that thoughtful look again. Hunk let him think in silence, a little afraid that saying anything would change the trajectory of the conversation and leave him reeling in the dark. Finally, Phillips seemed to decide on something, letting out a tired sigh. “I guess it’s important for someone else to know. You got class soon, kid?”

Hunk shook his head. “Not for another hour, sir.”

Phillips nodded, solemnly, then gestured for Hunk to enter the control booth. Hunk obeyed, and struggled to make himself comfortable on the other tiny chair in the room while Phillips stood up on his own chair and unscrewed the smoke alarm from the ceiling, gently tapping out the batteries as casually as if he was just flipping through the paper.

“You can open the door if the smell gets too bad,” he said simply and pulled out a pack of cigarettes, popping one between his lips and lighting it. “Keith’d never tell you any of this himself, but he wouldn’t care if you knew as long as you don’t baby him for it or anything. Plus, I keep telling myself he’ll be fine on his own, but knowing there’s someone around that understands him would be better.”

Hunk gulped and tried not to flinch at the smell. “What do you mean, on his own?”

“I’ve been transferred out,” Phillips said, taking a drag of the cigarette. “I’ll be in Virginia by the end of the semester.”

“Virginia? Doesn’t that usually mean-?”

“Groundwork, yeah. I know what it means,” Phillips gave an easy grin, but it looked tired. “I gave up on going to space a while ago, kid, in case you couldn’t already tell. Can’t pass the physicals anymore, at any rate.”

He tapped the ash from the cigarette out into an empty coffee cup. Hunk stayed silent as Phillips took another drag of the cigarette, long and slow like he was gathering the courage. When he finally spoke, the smoke curled up around the words like a ghost. “You know Takashi Shirogane, right?”

“Who doesn’t at the Garrison? The guy’s a legend!”

“Yeah, well,” Phillips grimaced around the cigarette. “He was a good friend of mine.”

“I-” Hunk cut himself off because what could he say to that? That he was sorry? From experience it felt like an empty comfort at best. Phillips gave him a sympathetic look, but continued on.

“Almost three years ago now, Shiro and all of us were all just a bunch of fresh graduates from the fighter track, waiting around for our assignments. Everyone knew Shiro was the best pilot out there, but then the guy comes around swearing by some first year cadet he’d found trying to sneak into the simulators while he was doing rounds.”

“That was Keith,” Hunk said, with heavy realization.

“That was Keith,” Phillips laughed, the noise more melancholy than anything. “You should have seen it, this fresh meat flying like a regular professional. We were all kind of jealous at first - who wouldn’t be when a kid just starting out flew better than you after you’d worked your ass off for years - but he was awkward and he wasn’t an asshole about it so none of us could really hate him. And he stuck to Shiro like glue until he ended up growing on _all_ of us. A few months and he was like our flight class’s prodigy kid brother, everyone wanted to see him succeed. They actually had to give us a talk about favoritism and the acceptable amount of fraternization between officers and cadets and all that, but it didn’t matter much. None of us were instructors yet and Keith was still top of the class.

“Anyways, we all treated him like a kid brother, but Shiro was the only one Keith really looked up to. And Shiro saw something great in him; he was always going on and on about something Keith did like some proud dad. They were really close, almost like family.”

Phillips paused, extinguishing the butt of his cigarette on a plastic coffee lid. “And then Shiro got assigned on the Kerberos mission, and well. You know the rest.”

“Oh,” Hunk breathed. He wasn’t sure there was anything he could say to that.  

“After Shiro -” Phillips paused, taking a shaky breath. “After Kerberos, Keith started cutting class, talking back to the instructors. They put him on probation and then he didn’t show up to an exam. The higher ups were going to kick him out, but it didn’t feel right for all of us that were friends with them. So, a friend and I managed to get Keith to see the Garrison shrink and a few more of our classmates convinced the Board to reconsider their decision since Keith was obviously showing signs of struggling with grief. We managed to get him back in on probation for the rest of the year. It never seemed like he was happy to be back, though, and I’ve always wondered if he was just staying because he felt obligated to after seeing how hard we worked for his sake.

“After that, most of us got transferred out or assigned on missions. I don’t think it has anything to do with Keith, but that doesn’t change the fact that I’m the last person involved in all this still around,” Phillips sighed. “I just hope he doesn’t think this is his fault. It’ll be hard enough just telling him about my transfer.”

There was a moment of silence in between them, heavy with emotion and awkward, and then Phillips turned to Hunk with that easy grin. “Anyway, that’s why I’m counting on you, ok? Maybe it’s a little unfair of me to ask you this after dropping all those bombs, and I’m sorry about that, but you seem like a good kid and it seems like Keith trusts you well enough. And you’re going to be on his team for the next two years anyway so just, be there for him if you can? He’s talented, but he’s got a lot to deal with. It’d be better if he didn’t have to do that alone.”

Hunk nodded, not confident enough in his ability to articulate an answer yet, but Phillips seemed satisfied anyway. Hunk watched, thoughtful, as Phillips lit another cigarette and finally cleared his throat when he’d gathered his courage. “Is that- Is that why you keep letting him on the simulators?”

Phillips blinked at him for a moment, working at the cigarette, before shrugging. “I figured he could use the distraction. He doesn’t want to talk to me about it, but I didn’t mind bending the rules a little if it meant he wouldn’t act out in less sympathetic company.”

“Makes sense,” Hunk mumbled, unsure what else to say. The silence that fell between them was uncomfortable, but not as oppressive as Hunk would have thought. So he just watched the smoke from Phillips cigarette curl around the room and let his thoughts wander.

If anyone could understand the concept of home being centered around people and not places, it was Hunk. His early childhood was spent in different cities around the world so he never learned to attach the word home to four walls and a roof. Instead, when he thought of home, he thought of the smell of cooked garlic and oil on his mother’s apron, the way his father sounded switching between English and his mother tongue when he called his family. He thought of all those years studying at the kitchen table so he could hear his mom and his aunts and uncles gossiping or so he could keep track of his siblings and cousins playing noisily in the common room.

So he knew what it felt like, and what it looked like, when you lost part of your home that you knew you’d never get back.

He’d seen it in his little brother’s face when they all dropped him off at the airport, watching his precious older brother wave goodbye through the glass in the car window. Hunk made sure to call home as soon as he landed, because he knew his brother wouldn’t eat until he’d understood that Hunk was still there, still alive, even when he couldn’t see him. When Hunk was his age, his object permanence wasn’t the best either. And he’d seen it in himself and his entire family at his aunt’s funeral. She was thirty four with an eight year old kid and generally perfect health. It didn’t feel fair or right when they put her in the ground.

Suddenly, Keith made sense, inasmuch as the confusing mess of grief made sense.  

He’d carved out a little home for himself in the Garrison and watched it get taken away. He’d found friends that remembered he was a person behind his reputation but they were leaving his life one by one not a year after he’d lost someone who was undoubtedly very important to him forever.

Hunk was lucky Keith was trusting him at all.

Even if Phillips had said Keith wouldn’t mind if he knew, it felt like betrayal anyway. Here he was, at once knowing more about Keith than almost anyone at the Garrison but not knowing enough about him to be the friend he needed. He didn’t know if Keith was the type to perceive all sympathy as pity, to shake off direct comfort and find it condescending. Did he want to remember or did he want to forget? Hunk wasn’t sure what he could do without shattering the fragile friendship that had grown between them.

But there was one thing that he kept circling back to: for Keith, every day he spent and every action he took at the Garrison must have been painful.

“You know,” Phillips finally said, tapping out the last of his cigarette and disrupting Hunk’s train of thought. “We argued again and again to superiors that Keith was acting out because he couldn’t move on. But I wonder if it was us that couldn’t let go.”

Hunk didn’t have an answer for that, either.

* * *

“There’s my dead guy!” Lance greeted, breaking from whatever argument he was having with Pidge and smiling fondly as Hunk set his tray down on the table. “You finally break up with that trash can? You two seemed close.”

“Yeah, dude,” he smiled back, even if it felt weak. He’d spent the last few classes in a weird funk, mind alternating between focusing on the professor and thinking about his conversation with Phillips. But he felt a little less overwhelmed now that he was in Lance’s familiar bright presence. “I got _dumped._ ”

Lance laughed, holding out a hand for a fist bump. Hunk accepted with a grin.

“Lance, pay attention!” Pidge hissed, slapping the table with one hand. “You physically _cannot_ read all the leftover fighter manuals, you have to pick your battles at this point. I am _telling_ you, your best bet is to read the practical maneuvers sections in SFM 14, 18 and 20. They’re not going to put you in a sim of anything more advanced than a Class 9 Fighter and won’t ask you to do complicated maneuvers for an _entrance_ exam.”

“But I want to make the best impression!” Lance protested, but it was more whining for the sake of whining than anything. Hunk could tell he was taking mental note and would probably follow Pidge’s advice after dinner anyway. “You know, so that they know I’m really really cut out for the program!”

“Then do that after you’ve gotten in,” Pidge sighed. “You have like less than four days now!”

Lance groaned. “As much as I hate saying this, you’re right.”

“Of course I’m right,” Pidge preened. The action looked so ‘Lance’ that Hunk had to chuckle.

“How do you know so much about the pilot manuals, anyway?”

“I’ve read all of them,” Pidge said, matter-of-factly. “I mean, not like _now_. Before I got into the Garrison. I’ve always wanted to go since my brother got in, so I read all the pilot manuals when I was younger and caught up on the three new manuals here.”

“Oh, your brother went here?” Hunk asked, nosiness piqued by even such a small reveal. It wasn’t often that Pidge talked about personal things unrelated to school or engineering. “How long ago? Do we know him? If he was sent on a mission, we probably know him!”

Pidge blanched, which was certainly odd considering how innocuous the question was, but Hunk didn’t say anything. “Oh, h-he’s not my real brother. Just a neighbor. Yeah. We, uh, we grew up together, so I make the mistake sometimes, y-you know.”

“Makes sense,” Hunk interjected gently. “Still though, do we know him?”

“He, uh,” Pidge took a long sip of his drink, clearly stalling. “He never went to space.”

“Oh, bummer,” he said, honestly. He didn’t quite understand the sentiment, but he knew enough ambitious pilots to know getting stuck on the ground felt like wasting away. He thought of Phillips and his transfer to Virginia and cringed before he could stop himself. “Well, maybe he’ll get his chance soon. I heard they’re ending the hold on space expeditions this month. It’s been almost half a year, but I wonder if it’s still too soon for a second Kerberos mission -”

He was on the tail end of a ramble he knew would trail off to silence, but Pidge abruptly stood, slamming both hands on the table loud enough to startle Lance away from his book.

“I have to go,” he mumbled quietly in response to their curious glances. Hunk was about to point out that he’d barely eaten, but Pidge hastily grabbed his tray and left the table before he could say anything.

“Sus _pi_ cious,” Lance sing-songed, hunching back over his textbook.

“That _was_ weird,” Hunk agreed, unable to stop himself from watching Pidge’s quickly retreating back. “Did I say something wrong?”

“I don’t think so, but who knows with that guy,” Hunk gave him a disapproving look but Lance just shrugged back. “Just saying, dude. He’s been your teammate for like a month and that was like the first time he’s ever talked about anything that wasn’t about school or _bullying me_ _._ ”

He was sure Lance didn’t mean anything by the observation, but the realization hurt Hunk all the same. He _had_ said something wrong, Pidge’s reaction was enough to tell him that, but he had no context for what it might have been because he didn’t know a thing about his own _teammate._ Maybe he could hide behind the excuse that Pidge kept that wall up himself, but it didn’t stop him from feeling like a bad friend for it.

“Well, it was still nice of him to help you out today,” Hunk said, deciding not to linger on that for now. Lance perked and quickly leaned over to write in the margin of his textbook. Hunk glanced over and saw he’d written the numbers of the manuals Pidge had suggested focusing on.

“Yeah, it’s pretty cool he’s read everything. He can be like my pilot cheat sheet when I make it to fighter class. It’s weird that he’s in the comms track and not piloting since he seems so invested, though,” Lance gave Hunk a lopsided grin. “Speaking of piloting, I’m going on a sim tomorrow with Keith again, if you want in.”

“No thanks,” Hunk said, quickly. He felt a little guilty for that, like he was avoiding Keith all over again. But even if he hadn’t been concerned about how to interact with Keith without tipping him off to the fact that he knew about Shiro, he would have said no anyway. He did _not_ need to get reacquainted with the trash can for the second day in a row.

“Your loss!” Lance shrugged, going back to his books. Not a moment later, he nudged at Hunk. “Hey, look who it is.”

They both watched as Pidge skulked in, trying and failing to remain obscured by a group of cadets who had just walked in. He emptied a fruit tray into his backpack and darted back out the way he came, leaving Hunk and Lance staring on after him in confusion. After a moment, Lance let out a laugh and smirked at Hunk over his shoulder.

“Sus- _Pidge_ -ous.”

* * *

Hunk didn’t end up having time to dwell on Keith or Pidge at all.

On Monday, Lance failed his appeal.

Hunk wasn’t there to see it happen, but when he came back from class to Lance napping when Hunk knew he had class, he could only guess the worst. He made sure he was still in the room when Lance woke up and pretended to study to let Lance decide when he was ready to say anything. But Lance told him almost immediately, with a tired laugh and a joke about crashing and burning that seemed too rehearsed.

It hurt to see him like this, when he was usually so bright and enthusiastic, but Hunk knew Lance well enough that he would need some space before he felt ready to really talk to Hunk about it, that approaching the topic now when it still stung would only result in Hunk carefully treading eggshells in a way that would just feed Lance’s insecurity. So he told Lance to rest, told him that he would bring him back dinner and left him alone so that he could make the call to his family.

Lance always felt the most homesick when he felt like he’d failed them. That was something Hunk understood from experience, at least.

* * *

He ran into Pidge at the dining hall, shaking his head solemnly when Pidge gave him an expectant look. Pidge frowned, but didn’t say anything about it and carefully avoided the topic in conversation. When they got to the front of the line, he noticed Pidge picked up a to-go box as well.

“We’re eating in your room, right?” Pidge said, when Hunk raised an eyebrow at him.

Hunk nodded, smiling a little at Pidge’s poorly disguised eagerness to check on Lance. They weren’t allowed to pack a second box for Lance, so they ended up splitting up the duty of getting double portions for Lance in each of their own boxes. Hunk felt a little lighter afterwards, and their conversation wasn’t as forced when Hunk told Pidge that they needed to stall for a bit to make sure Lance had finished up his phone call home.  

So they ended up getting approached by Lance’s teammates while they waited on the table nearest the entrance. They looked worried that Lance wasn’t with Hunk, but when Hunk reassured them that Lance was just taking a nap they asked Hunk to relay a message that they weren’t upset about the test, careful to avoid actually saying that they’d failed.

Then, when they’d finished loitering and decided to head back to deliver dinner to Lance, Hunk was surprised to find Keith lingering outside the door to the mess hall.

“O-oh,” Keith said, looking anxious as he held a notebook and a small manila folder in his hands. He squinted, and relaxed when he didn’t see Lance with them. “You’re going back to see Lance, right?”

“Yep,” Hunk said. Then, before he could help it, he asked. “Wanna come with?”

He immediately flinched. Bringing Keith would be like rubbing salt in Lance’s wound, but taking back his offer would be like saying he didn’t want to hang out with Keith after he’d all but avoided Keith for the last few days. Thankfully, Keith shook his head.

“Busy,” he said, handing Hunk the things he’d been carrying. “These are the notes from class today and Phillips asked me to give him the folder. I would give it to him sooner rather than later, Phillips said it might make him feel better.”

“Thanks,” Hunk said, handing off his to-go box to Pidge and taking the notebook and folder from him. “What’s inside?”

Keith just shrugged. “I don’t know, but if it helps, I think if he just stopped trying to pull flashy stunts, he’d probably be a decent pilot.”

Hunk blinked, because Keith had just _complimented_ Lance? Before he could ask what exactly Keith meant, Keith said a curt goodbye and walked away.  

“Strange guy,” Pidge said as Keith retreated, and Hunk laughed because _oh man, pot meet kettle._

Pidge didn’t try to hand him back the to-go box, though, so he looked over the things Keith gave him while they walked. The folder was labelled with the Garrison standard and Lance’s name, then listed all of the instructors that were probably in charge of overseeing his exam. These were Lance’s test results, Hunk realized with horror. It felt almost _wrong_ to have them, but he tried to comfort himself with the fact that it wasn’t his fault he had them.

He did manage to reign in his nosiness, though, leaving the file sealed and opening up the notebook instead, since he was actually a little curious about how Keith took notes. As it turned out, Keith _didn’t_ take notes. Or, not usually. The notebook was completely empty except for two pages, front and back, that were clearly just from today’s lesson and were hastily written without any of the shorthand that most people used when writing notes for themselves.

_Keith is a good guy_ _._ Hunk thought, warmly, and resolved to stop avoiding him even though he still wasn’t sure the best way to bring up the things Phillips had told him. Keith was a good friend and he deserved someone who could be a good friend for him, too. Phillips had asked that much of Hunk, and it was about time he make good on that. 

When they made it back to the room, Hunk heard Lance on the tail end of a conversation with his parents and waited until he was finished to enter the room, mouthing a ‘thank you’ to Pidge for his patience to which Pidge just gave a noncommittal shrug.

“Got you food, Lance-o-loser,” Pidge said as soon as they made it through the door. “Forgot utensils, though, so you’re going to have to eat it with your hands.”

“Psh,” Lance replied, easily. Hunk could tell he was still tired, but he was glad Lance felt ready enough to banter with Pidge at least. “As if a cool guy like me is ever underprepared for food.”

He opened the drawer to his desk and pulled out a set of wrapped plastic utensils and split it between the three of them. Pidge took the knife, he got the spoon and Lance kept the fork. The conversation was carefully light as they ate, but because Pidge was there and it wasn’t just Hunk alone, he could tell Lance felt more comforted by it than anything. They almost went through the whole meal before Lance commented on the file that Hunk had set on his desk.

“By the way, what are those papers you brought in, dude?” He asked, a hint of anxious energy running underneath his carefully even tone.

“Oh, Keith gave them to me,” Hunk said, trying not to flinch the way Lance did when he heard Keith’s name. “The folder’s from Phillips and he said you should look at them sooner rather than later. The notebook’s for the class you missed.”

Naturally, Lance picked up the notebook first, flipping through it as he ate. “Man, these notes are as boring as class is.”

“Or maybe Keith’s just a good author,” Hunk said. “You know, _capturing the mood_ and all.”

Lance snorted at that, then picked up the file. He blanched when he saw the label, but clearly tried to hide the reaction, face carefully impassive as he slid a few papers out of the folder. The next few moments were _incredibly_ tense for Hunk, who already had an idea what the papers were, and if it weren’t for Pidge obliviously chewing on a cookie to his left, he wasn’t sure he could handle it.

The tension broke all at once, along with what little remained of Hunk’s composure, when Lance yelled and tossed the papers into the air.

“Dude!” he cried, throwing himself onto the bed. “Dude, dude, _dude!”_

“What?!” Hunk squeaked. “What is it?!”

“Dude!” was Lance’s response.

“Get a hold of yourself man!” Pidge yelled, sounding mildly alarmed as Lance flailed about on his bed.

Hunk was nervous for a moment, since he still had no idea what those papers actually said, but when Lance finally calmed down and reached over to pick them up again, he was smiling something nervous and hopeful.

“Dude, those were my test scores. I was one point away from passing, Hunk! I was _so close!_  Dude, one point! One point! Do you know what this means? I was one point from being a-! Who _was_ it?!” Lance’s eyes sped across the pages, hands trembling, and his expression rapidly changed to outrage. _“IVERSON!”_

“Told you he was dirty,” Pidge said, flatly.

“And I’ll never doubt you again, Pidge,” Lance said, emphatically, before collapsing on the bed.

He lay there for a moment, the heels of his palms glued to his eyes. Hunk thought he might be crying for a moment, but then Lance just let out a shaky laugh.

“Ugh, well this sucks,” Lance said, but he sounded giddy as he said it. When he gave Hunk a grin, it was so bright it was almost blinding. “But good to know, you know, for next month’s appeal.”

Hunk grinned back.

“Well, now that we’re talking about the elephant in the room,” Pidge said. “Your teammates wanted you to know that they’re not mad or anything. So...”

“So, they’d probably be down for retry!” Hunk finished.

“Nice,” Lance said, still grinning. “Cause I’ll be trying every month until Iverson cracks.”

“Dude!” Hunk laughed.

“What? There’s no limits on how many times you can try.”

“Better be careful you don’t inspire them to make a rule just for you. Or at least make sure they name it after you,” Pidge smirked, but Lance just stuck out his tongue at him.

“Y’know, Keith’s not such a bad guy, for getting these to me and all,” Lance said as he flipped through his exam scores again, then pointed a finger accusingly at the two of them. “Don’t either of you tell him that, though.”  

“Oh!” Hunk brightened, remembering what Keith had mumbled before he left them in front of the cafeteria. “By the way, Keith actually said, and I quote: ‘If he stopped trying to pull flashy stunts, he’d probably be a decent pilot.’”

“Probably,” Lance laughed. “And if I stopped eating pizza I’d _probably_ live longer, but we both know that’s not happening either.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so like lance isn’t wrong that keith gets by on favoritism, b/c i honestly couldn’t imagine a world where keith managed to stay in the garrison on his own after kerberos, so i invented shiro n keith’s cool friends who are also grieving and try to preserve their dead friend’s legacy via the kid he put all his faith in. either way it’s a sad time at the garrison y’all. also sorry i failed lance fam, but hey he only failed by one point n he's a tenacious lil guy now that he has some of his confidence back n keith's blessing
> 
> Anyway, sorry again for how long it took to update. I can’t guarantee i’ll be quick about the next chapter, but I’ll try to have it out by the end of the month. It’ll actually contain keith and pidge interactions y’all! :O :O :O
> 
> As usual, lmk how u felt about it in the comments or [yell at me on tumblr](http://brosura.tumblr.com/)!


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